A Very Fine Line
by DefyGravity18
Summary: Esme Destler has just turned 18 and finds being an adult harder than she thought. Julienne Destler is coming to terms with her spinsterhood and Lillian Holden is recovering from a broken heart. Sequel to both Painting the Sky and Fire and Ice.
1. Prologue

_What is a true lady? A true lady is a woman of refinement and gentle manners. A lady should be quiet in her manners, natural and unassuming in her language, careful to wound no one's feelings, but giving generously and freely from the treasures of her pure mind to her friends. Scorning no one openly, she should feel gentle pity for the unfortunate, the inferior and the ignorant, at the same time carrying herself with an innocence and single-heartedness which disarms ill nature, and wins respect and love from all._

Esme Marie Destler closed the book of etiquette that her friends were all so keen on and tossed it aside in disgust. Giving generously and freely from the treasures of her pure mind? Absolute and utter garbage! As today was her eighteenth birthday, she would soon be introduced into society as a lady of marriageable age, but if she had to follow the rules in that book, she would rather remain unmarried!

She still felt seventeen! The thought of being somebody's wife or God forbid, their mother scared the wits out of Esme. Not that she didn't know how it all worked. She had four older sisters and a sister-in-law and she had browbeaten each of them into telling her a bit more. Of course, the fact that she had found Julienne's stash of romance novels had taught her even more than anything her sisters could have revealed. She knew how all the parts fit together and worked, but what she didn't understand is whyanybody would want to partake in such an awkward activity. Obviously, it was the way to beget children, but those wicked novels seemed to indicate that people acted this way for pleasure. How one would get pleasure out of _that,_ she had no clue.

Only she and Julienne still lived at home with their parents. Julienne was nearly twenty-five and unmarried, which was unthinkable. Their mother had tried several times to introduce Jules to unmarried men, all of whom she had rejected or frightened away with her quick witted tongue. Men were intimidated by Julienne's intelligence, Esme knew. She loved her sister dearly, but Esme suspected that Julienne was not opposed to men in general, she was simply trying to keep them at a safe distance from her heart. As the youngest in the family, Esme had spent her life observing her older siblings' behavior and emotions.

Madeleine was very maternal and firm, while Bella had been the sweet, grounding force that one went to for advice and comfort. Claire had been the fiercely loyal one and Julienne had been the smart one with an acid tongue. Charles, of course, was Dad all over again. He was aggressive and quick tempered and extremely loving.

Charles was a father himself now, after eight years of marriage, he had three children of his own. Ava was his eldest, at seven years old, followed two years later by her sister Eden and two years after that came his son, Knox, who was three years old. Charles and his wife, Emmy, were expecting their fourth and what they claimed would be their final child.

Maddie had two children, Olivia and Walker, who were eight and four, respectively. Bella had her own two children, Edward, who would be seven in May and Nessa, who was almost four. Claire was the only of her three married sisters that did not have one girl yet. She and Gustave had named their first child, the future Viscount de Chagny, Erik Raoul for both of their fathers. The adorable black haired child was six. Their second child Lucien was four, and had inherited the light hair of his father, and gray eyes, which seemed a combination of Gustave's sky blue and Claire's silver green eyes. Claire was also expecting another child toward the middle of the year.

Esme had four nieces and five nephews, and she loved all of them dearly, but she could not imagine mothering any of them. She barely felt like an adult. All of her life, she had been sheltered and babied. While she loved her family dearly, she was slightly resentful that she had never been out into the world as Claire had been by her age…and Julienne had gone to finishing school at sixteen. The truth was, entering Society scared the daylights out of Esme because she didn't know how to act around other people.

The two people she was closest to in the world were a twenty-five year old spinster and a twenty-seven year old half Persian.

Roger.

He'd always been her dearest friend, her fiercest protector and her greatest champion. He was the dark prince of every romance novel reader's fantasy. Tall, with thick, inky hair and skin the color of very light caramel. His eyes were hazel, with flecks of green, brown and gold in them and he had the features of what she would imagine a Greek God to look like. Though he was half Persian, his Irish side had clearly been dominant in his features as he had a straight, fine nose and a chiseled, squared off jaw line. Women practically fell at his feet. Though he would never say so, Esme knew he spent time with women. She didn't mind though. Roger was very handsome, and it was easy to see why ladies fell in love with him at first sight.

Speaking of Roger, he was nearly two hours late for her birthday party and Esme had been forced to open her gifts without the presence of her best friend. The Lady's Etiquette book had been given to her by Julienne as a joke, but it was upsetting her. If she could not act herself in public, then she did not want to be in public. Even more upsetting was the fact that Roger had stood her up on the most important birthday of her life. Now the party was over and Esme had retreated to the solitude of her bedroom. Padding to the window seat, she looked out wistfully at the twilight.

A knock on her door made her nearly fly out of her own skin.

"Come in!" She managed to say, panting. A tall, dark haired figure stepped inside and Esme didn't have to turn her head to know who it was. "You're late." She said, without looking at him. A sigh left him.

"I know. I'm sorry Esme." He said, as she made herself look at him. He was standing with his arm behind his back. "If you'll let me explain, I'll tell you why." Esme turned toward him, sitting with her legs tucked up under her body. He moved to kneel beside the window seat and drew forth something covered in a satin cloth with a bow on it. Meeting his hazel eyes, she carefully removed the covering to reveal a shiny silver box. Gentle as a lamb, he opened the top and a sweet lullaby began to play from it.

"I ordered this specially from Persia." He explained. "I was waiting for it to arrive today, but the train had been delayed."

Esme took it from him and realized there was something else inside it. A slim gold chain with a pendant on the end that looked like a tiny sun. It had a ruby in the center of it. Shaking her head, Esme began to hand it back to him.

"Roger, this is too much…I can't accept-"

"You can." He insisted, grinning up at her. "Here, lift your hair and let me put your necklace on." Obliging him, she lifted the long curling mass of her red hair and let him fasten the clasp at the back of it.

"Why is it a sun, Roger?" She asked, touching the precious pendant around her neck. His hazel eyes flickered with something she did not recognize as his smile grew tight, but did not disappear.

"Your hair is exactly the color of a sunrise." Roger told her thickly and patted her cheek tenderly. "Happy birthday, Esme Marie." She found a smile for him and nodded.

"I'll wear it always." She promised.

* * *

**And so it begins!!!! Enjoy! **


	2. Youth and Beauty

**Paris, April 1906 **

Simon Reynolds surveyed the choices of dance partners at the ball he was attending that night. The prospects seemed bleak this season. Either the ladies were too young…or they were very homely, which was unfortunate. Not that he was interested in marriage…he was only thirty! He intended to enjoy every second of his bachelorhood and had fully. His mother had been at him to marry since he'd turned twenty-five, but he far enjoyed the companies of numerous woman and in all reality could not dream of committing to one person.

The pretty red haired daughter of Monsieur Destler caught his eye, but the memory of her in pinafores and braids barely two years before stayed in his mind and made him cringe. She was barely of age…he felt sick even considering it though she was beautiful. Green satin complimented her bright curls and as she walked through the room close to her parents, Simon noted that this was probably Esme Destler's first official ball. He remembered when his younger sisters had attended their first Society event. They'd had the same look of wonder on their faces.

Gracie at twenty-three was now married off to a poor artist, much to his disgust. His mother assured him that they truly loved each other. Simon could not imagine how two people could survive on love alone. Anna, who was twenty, was a realist like him. They were very close, despite the ten year age difference. Anna had been named for their late grandmother, Antoinette Giry.

Youth and beauty only lasted in this world so long…and Simon intended to take every advantage of both before he allowed himself to settle. There was no doubt that little Esme was very pretty, but he could not bring himself to approach her. Some shred of decency still remained in him. Settling his gaze on another couple of girls, he realized he was looking at identical twins, whom he recognized as Lillian Holden's sisters.

Poor Lillian had been engaged for five years to a young lawyer. She was a very lovely woman, who had wasted years of her youth on a man who seemed like he would never come round. Every time it seemed like he would finally give in and set a date, something would set them back. Simon knew everything there was to know about Lillian Holden for the simple fact that his closest friend, James Westcliff had been in love with her since he'd been a green boy of eighteen. In fact, James's favorite topic of discussion was Lily. The worst part for the old boy was that Lily couldn't stand him. It amused Simon to no end, but he did feel sorry for his best friend.

Walking toward the twins, Simon stopped as another lady caught his eye. A black haired beauty standing with the chaperones. She looked almost exactly like the Vicomtesse de Chagny, Claire, but for her blue eyes and fuller lips. He realized, silently scolding himself, that she was Julienne Destler. How could he have forgotten? Nodding to himself, he turned and approached her. Her blue, blue eyes looked up at him with skeptical cynicism as she eyed him warily.

"Mademoiselle." Simon opened pleasantly, alarmed by the incredulous look she gave him. An uncomfortable feeling crept into the pit of his stomach as he realized she was practically laughing at him.

"How are you tonight, Simon?" Julienne asked, tilting her head prettily. A jolt of attraction shot down his spine as he let his eyes drift to the modest cut of her gown. Too modest for a lady in search of a husband. In fact, it intrigued him all the more, imagining what lay beneath the prim cut of her gown. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight coil, accenting the pristine creaminess of her skin all the more. Long black eyelashes fanned around her cerulean eyes.

"Better now that I'm near you, Mademoiselle Destler." He flirted, toying with her expertly. To his surprise, she let out a shocked laugh.

"I highly doubt that." She mused.

"Won't you dance with me?" He asked, pretending to pout. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"You're a bit late for that." Julienne replied dryly. Simon frowned in bemusement.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, once again looking at the way her dark dress curved over her supple feminine form.

"Monsieur Reynolds," She said in a tart voice, "I am a spinster."

"What the devil are you on about?" He demanded, becoming irritated with her avoidance. "Spinsters are old and unseemly…and you most certainly, are not. You can't be over twenty-one…"

A bitter laugh left her, and it all began to become very clear to him. "I am twenty-five, Simon." He could only stare at her like a bloody idiot while the other chaperones…old crones…began to whisper behind their fans. "I understand." Julienne added quietly. "Don't worry, you are off the hook, so to speak."

Simon surprised himself by holding his hand out again.

"Even better." He said, "No pressure…surely you can spare one dance." Simon saw the look of longing in her eyes at the prospect of feeling like she was just another girl at the ball in the hopes of finding a husband. His heart hurt for her, like so many before her, who only wanted to be loved. There was something to be said for the fact that she hadn't settled. Like him. "Please." He added. She seemed to fight herself, but it seemed she lost as her gloved hand moved forward to slip into his much larger hand. Ignoring the stares of the other jealous crones, he walked her out onto the floor and took her small waist in his hand. He'd never realized how tiny she was compared to him. For a girl this attractive to be considered a spinster…it disgusted him. She should be in some lucky man's bed this very moment lying prone and naked, waiting for him with a gold band on her left finger.

"Simon, you're flushed." Julienne said as he spun her outward. He composed himself, grinning rakishly down at her.

"It's the dark velvet." He joked, indicating her modest attire. "It always gets me bothered." Her blue eyes widened and she smacked his chest lightly, but her eyes were alight with laughter.

"You are the veriest devil, Monsieur Reynolds." She whispered. He leaned down toward her and murmured into her ear.

"You have no idea, Mademoiselle." He felt her shiver and pull back as the music ended.

"Thank you for humoring me, Simon." Julienne said, a wistful look coming into her blue eyes. "Enjoy your debauchery."

"I will," He chuckled patting her hand. "And you enjoy…" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Be happy, Julienne." He said, kissing her hand and walking away from her as fast as he could. When he looked back, she was gone.

* * *

James Westcliff saw Simon coming toward him and walked toward him with purpose. Simon looked like he might rip someone's limb off and James knew at once it had to do with a girl. Smirking to himself, James stepped forward and slapped his taller friend's shoulder.

"Reynolds…what's crawled into your knickers?" He asked with a chuckle. Simon glared at him and shrugged him off.

"Shut up, Westcliff." He muttered. "I need a drink."

James grinned to himself and scanned through the people in attendance for no one in particular. The Holden twins caught his eye, looking more like their older sister every day. Lily, who he had lost for good five years ago when he'd still failed to convey his feelings to her. She'd become engaged to Mercer Arnott, a lawyer. The two had still not married, much to James's surprise. If Lillian had consented to marry him, he would have dragged her to the priest then and there. Since they had been children he'd loved her.

And she could not stand him.

For some reason, she'd always found him to be obnoxious and arrogant. It had begun with him just enjoying teasing her and her infuriation with him. She was adorable when she was angry, all pink cheeks and blazing hazel eyes. He'd always thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world and since he'd lost her for good, he'd spent his time trying to find a woman to measure up. He'd see a woman with dark, glossy hair like hers…or with hazel eyes…or full lips, but no one would ever be _her_, and that was the sad truth.

"She isn't here." Simon said uncharitably, downing a glass of champagne.

"Who isn't here?" James asked, playing dumb. Simon scowled moodily.

"That blasted girl you've lusted after since you were still on leading strings." He replied acidly, grabbing another glass of champagne.

"I have not _lusted _after her." James said defensively.

"Oh come, Westcliff." Simon scoffed. "She is eventually going to marry Arnott, if the bloody idiot ever realizes that her prime years are nearly over."

Angered, James's blood boiled as he grabbed the lapels of his much larger friend's coat.

"Don't _ever_ talk about her that way." He growled. "She is not _old_."

"She's twenty-six." He said, as if that were ample explanation. Simon shrugged coldly.

"Julienne Destler is twenty-five and _she's _a spinster." Simon said with a touch of disgust. James studied his best friend for a moment.

"What made you think of her?" He asked curiously. Simon stared at him warningly.

"I ran into her. Danced with her…"

"You danced with a spinster, when there are plenty of girls here?" James laughed, glad for the change of subject from Lillian. His eyes flickered over to where Julienne stood with the other chaperones and spinsters at the side. She looked miserable, if truth be told, but she was still lovely as ever. Her sister the Viscountess de Chagny was standing with her and though the two were talking, Julienne looked as if she would rather be elsewhere. A look of worry was on both girls' faces. Giselle and Nora Holden, Lillian's sisters joined them a moment later, their faces grim as well. Panic thrummed through James's chest as he pondered Lillian's absence. Though she was engaged, she never missed a good party.

"…and I don't bloody care if she's a spinster, I would still give my right arm to bed her…" Simon was saying. It was when Claire met James's eyes that he left his friend's side and strode quickly toward her.

"My Lady." He said politely, kissing her cheek. She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

"James." She said kindly.

"How are your children?" James inquired, unable to remember either of the boys' names at the moment.

"Erik is doing very well with his tutor and Lucien just had his first piano lesson…" Claire touched her slightly curved middle and rolled her eyes lightly. "And _this_ one…is going to send me straight into confinement in the prime of the Season." Taking his arm, she pulled him away from the crowd of girls. "James, I thought you should know…Mercer Arnott broke it off with Lily today. He's written that he is going to marry the daughter of his employer to become a partner." She frowned. "She's heartbroken."

"Why are you telling me?" He asked, hating the way he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Claire took pity on him.

"James, you may try to fool yourself into believing you don't love her, but you can't fool me." She smiled at him. "This is your chance…prove to her that you love her."

"How?" He asked. With a shrug, she touched his arm.

"Be creative…it worked for Gustave." She said, waving to her husband, who was stuck in a conversation with an old Colonel who couldn't hear. If James hadn't been so caught up in his own problems, he would have laughed at poor Gustave. "Well, I should go save him." Claire said, squeezing his hand once more before walking toward the Vicomte, who looked quite like he wanted to murder himself.

Forgetting everyone else, James excused himself, saying goodbye to Simon and his parents. Newfound hope crept into his heart as he tried very hard to be creative. Perhaps Darya would know what to do.

* * *

Esme had always imagined what her first ball would be like. She would get to wear a pretty gown and young men would ask her to dance and before she knew it, she would fall in love and become engaged within the Season. In theory.

It had started out that way. Indeed within moments, she had been asked to dance with a very handsome young man that she did not recognize. Of course, she had not counted on the lecherous stares of older men as well…not to mention the way every man she met seemed to stared at the hint of cleavage at the scoop of her neckline. It made her feel naked and uncomfortable.

When she tried to make pleasant conversation with people, they stared at her as if she were some idiot heathen girl. She never knew what to say, and when she did interject, all she managed to do was garner a scolding stare from the person she was speaking to. Esme was used to saying whatever came to her mind, and it seemed, that people did not enjoy that in Society.

As another young man asked her to dance and she accepted, he asked her if she was enjoying herself and she'd heard herself blurt out that it was great fun dancing, but that her feet would be swollen and bruised by morning. He'd made a face of horror, and had politely seen her back to her mother before retreating quickly. Distraught, she left the ballroom in search of a quiet corner to hide. Her red curls were already falling from the pins and she had to close her eyes against the tears of failure forming in her eyes.

She found an open set of double doors and peered inside what looked like a drawing room. Starting inside, she halted when she saw a couple in the corner locked in an intimate embrace. Hoping no one had seen her, she backed out and tried the next door. It led into the empty library. Shutting the door softly behind her, she sank into a chair and buried her face in her gloved hands, letting the tears fall. In her misery, she hadn't heard the doors open as someone stepped inside.

Starting slightly, she realized someone was holding a handkerchief out to her. Unable to bring herself to look up, she took it, and dabbed at her eyes.

"I am sorry, I just wanted a bit of quiet and it was vacant in here, so I thought--" She stopped, looking up and seeing Roger smiling down at her.

"Your mother was worried." He told her, kneeling down to help her wipe her face. "She sent me after you."

"When did you get here?" She sniffed, feeling embarrassed. He brushed a stray tendril from her face.

"Just now." His eyes were sympathetic. "Your mother told me it wasn't going so well for you, Es."

"I'm a failure." Esme said, feeling her lip tremble again with tears that threatened to fall.

"Stop that…" He soothed, pulling her to her feet and into his arms for a warm hug.

"The last boy I danced with practically ran from me!" She exclaimed, feeling him tense.

Roger pulled back to look her in the eyes and she realized how golden his eyes looked in this light.

"It's very hard to fit in for anybody…" He laughed quietly. "Look at me…I am the worst kind of outcast…half Irish, half Persian…my father was an artist and both died before I had barely taken my first breath. People think of me as left over trash."

"Roger!" She gasped. "Don't ever say that! You are the sweetest, most handsome man I know!" His eyes softened as he stared down at her. Toying with a piece of her hair, he gave her a tight smile.

"But people can't see past their prejudices, little one." He replied. "It's sad, but the world is, as a whole, a very unaccepting place." Esme looked at him in surprise, realizing how lovely he looked dressed formally with his long, black hair brushed neatly, parted on one side. "One day, you are going to marry a man who loves you…and when that day comes, you can forget every bad thing you felt tonight."

"You're just saying that because we're such good friends."

"Actually, I shouldn't say that _because_ we're such good friends." He said quietly. The strangest thing happened. Her stomach began to flutter as if there were a swarm of birds flying around inside her. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the door. "Come on, Esme Marie, your mother will worry."

Esme hesitated, holding them back. He came back to her looking concerned.

"What is it?" He asked. Biting her lip, she fought her conscience and leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek. Shock lit his golden eyes. "What was that for?" He asked. Smiling, she shrugged.

"Thank you, Roger." She said as he reached out to touch the necklace he'd give her on her birthday two months earlier. A small smile curved his lips.

"You're still wearing it." He murmured. Nodding, she was unable to meet his eyes.

"I told you I would." Esme said, pulling him out of the library. "Come on…but I should warn you…you owe me a dance."

* * *

Lillian Holden was in tears, re-reading the letter that her fiancé had sent her again. His scrawl was unmistakable and his betrayal hurt even worse. Five years she had wasted on Mercer, who had caught her heart immediately when they'd met. At the time, Merce had been working closely with her father and Uncle Erik at Destler and Associates.

_Lillian, _

_I hope you are well. I sincerely regret to inform you that I must break off our engagement. I have met someone else who suits with me. Adriana, the daughter of Christophe Felton. I am being made a partner in his firm. I hope you understand…perhaps we can be friends someday. _

_Merce_

Five years…

Her two younger sisters Jane and Lucy, were married and engaged, respectively and soon Giselle and Nora would follow suit when they accepted proposals from their many suitors.

She was now twenty-six years old. No one would want her now! She was a spinster. Ice crept into her spine as she began to shiver uncontrollably. Thankful she was alone in the house, she walked aimlessly in her night gown and robe through the halls and parlor. A knock on the front door made her nearly jump out of her skin. Unthinking, she answered the door and found someone she'd never expected to see on her doorstep the night of a ball. Ice blue eyes stared down at her.

"Westcliff." She said with a sigh. A frown pulled his lips downward.

"Lillian, I'm sorry to bother you. I heard of your troubles and I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am to have--" He stopped himself, seeing her state of dress and shaking his head. "Forget it. I'm sorry to bother you, I should go…"

"No!" She heard herself cry, reaching forward to pull him inside by the wrist. "Stay."

James Westcliff had driven her crazy since she had been fourteen and he had been eighteen. She'd gone between fancying the hell out of him as a girl and wanting to bash his head in as he'd grown into a handsome, arrogant young man. He was obnoxious and a complete dolt, but the thought of being alone with her own thoughts frightened her, so she welcomed him inside.

"It's cold tonight." She said quietly, walking into the parlor and sinking onto a settee. Uncomfortably, he sat in an armchair and nodded.

"It is chilly." He agreed.

"I can't believe this." She muttered, drawing her knees up to her chest, uncaring how pathetic she seemed to him. "From engaged to spinster in one day." A sob began to build in her chest and she watch his face go from discomfort to sheer panic as he flew off the chair to sit beside her on the settee. She jumped when his arm came around her, but to her pleasure he was warm and comforting…she hadn't seen him like this since before he'd realized how attractive he was. They'd used to be close…spending summer days together…talking…laughing. He'd grown up and left her behind while she grew up too. As they'd drifted apart, Lillian had found she became irritated easily with him, but not because she hated him. She could never _really_ hate him. She'd simply hated what he had become…she hated that he knew his own appeal and she hated that she'd secretly agreed with him. So she had met Mercer five years earlier on a trip to England to visit cousins. And to escape the constant presence of James. Two months later, they had become engaged and the waiting game had begun.

Every time she had pressed the issue and threatened to end it, he'd relented and set a date, but something always got in the way.

He was being sent on a trip…

His boss needed help with a high profile case…

His mother was sick…

The excuses had become endless, but she had loved him, so she had overlooked it. Bitter tears of self anger burned her eyes.

"I'm such a fool!" She cried, allowing James to cradle her head against his shoulder.

"Lily…" He said, smoothing her hair. "You are _not _a fool…_he's _the fool!"

"I shouldn't have waited so long!" She moaned, hating herself for it. "Now I'm too old for anyone to marry."

"I'm thirty and I'm not married." He said, trying to comfort her. Lillian gave him an incredulous look.

"It's different for men and you know it." She was silent as he used one of his fingertips to wipe her tears off of her cheek.

"You're not too old." James said again, staring at her in the oddest way. She managed to smile at him, heartbroken.

"Where was this side of you six years ago?" She cried. He held her cheek softly.

"Oh Lily, I--" She stopped him, rising up in his arms and pressing her lips hotly against his, tasting her own tears on his lips. James's arms snaked around her holding her close for a moment before pushing her away. His icy eyes were kind as he shook his head.

"No Lil." He said gently. "Not like this…you're vulnerable…you're heartbroken, you're--"

"Oh shut _up_." She growled, kissing him again with a burning passion, remembering every girlish fantasy she had once harbored for him. His breathing became labored and as she flicked her tongue into his mouth, she tasted the sweet lingering flavor of the champagne he'd drunk at the ball. A long groan escaped her as he pulled away again.

"This isn't over." He said firmly, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. "But I won't take advantage like this." Standing up, he smoothed her glossy hair again. "But know this…I _will _have you, Lily Holden…and I'm not going to let Mercer Arnott or any other tosser muck it up again."

With that, he left her burning on the sofa unsure of whether she was furious or on fire.

* * *

**So I am thinking this is a decent start. It's forming very well in my mind how I want it to go. I hope you all enjoy it!!!! **


	3. Missed Opportunities

"Eden Destler, you had better give your sister her doll back if you know what is good for you!" Emmeline Destler told her second oldest child as she sank with Julienne's help into a chair. The entire family had gathered at Charles and Emmy's for the third birthday of their son Knox, who was an adorable dark haired imp with his father's green eyes.

"But Maman!" Eden wailed, "She won't let me play with her, Edward and Erik!"

"Play with Lucien and Nessa then." Emmy said, looking desperately at Julienne for help. Julienne had to laugh because Emmy was so heavily pregnant that she could no longer stand without help to run after her dueling daughters. Eden began to sob.

"But Ava never lets me play with her!"

"That's because you're a _baby_." Ava complained from across the room while her two cousins snickered. Edward Coolidge, the seven year old Viscount Everton was an exact replica of his father, Tris and six year old Erik Raoul de Chagny was a delightful mix of both of his parents. He had light brown hair with lovely aquamarine colored eyes and a serious disposition. Ava, Charles's eldest child was a tomboy at seven years old with a long mass of curling black hair, which she always wore in two braids and her messed, wrinkled pinafore.

Eden, who was five, had black hair as well, but has inherited her grandfather, the Comte's, bright blue eyes. She was the epitome of feminine, and adored wearing frills and ribbons, so the two girls warred constantly. Julienne knew this well because she spent much time with her nieces and nephews since she had no husband or children of her own to care for though she secretly felt a pang of longing every time she was near them.

Charles came into the room and saw his daughters fighting and met Emmy's eyes, obviously trying to hide his amusement. With a small sigh, he pulled the two girls apart and tucked one under each arm, setting them in separate chairs.

"Now listen here, young ladies," Julienne heard her brother say, "Your mother is very close to having the new baby, so I want you two to be on your best behavior, is that clear?" Both little girls nodded, with Eden's lower lip still trembling. Julienne smirked to herself, knowing that Charles was a sucker for his girls. "You will both sit for five minutes to think about that." He kissed each of their foreheads and walked away from them, coming over to sit beside his wife.

"That little devil Eden almost got to me that time." Charles said, rubbing his neck tiredly as he looked at his pouting daughter. Emmy laughed.

"She gets to you every time. It seems she inherited the gift of manipulation from her father." Charles chuckled, glancing at Julienne suspiciously.

"I spoke with Jane this morning." Charles told her, looking serious again.

"Oh?" Julienne replied, uninterested.

"Yes, she told me that you and Simon Reynolds danced at the Lady Dorset's Birthday ball." He said darkly. Julienne felt Emmy's eyes on her and heat come into her cheeks in embarrassed remembrance.

"Oh, yes." She nodded, trying to sound casual. "That."

"Did he try to proposition you?" Charles blurted. Julienne's eyes widened indignantly as she scanned the room to make sure no one had heard.

"Charles!" Both she and Emmy hissed.

"_No! _He did not try to proposition me!" Julienne said angrily. "And keep your voice _down _for goodness sake! Could you imagine if Dad thought I was cavorting with men?"

"Well, Simon makes no secret of his skirt chasing." Charles told her, "And now that you're on the shelf, so to speak—"

"Charles, _please_!" Emmy whispered, giving Julienne an apologetic look. Jules's face felt like it must be a very striking shade of pink.

"Well she is." Charles pointed out. "And I wouldn't care if you were forty years old, I don't like him dallying with my sister without the intention to marry her!"

"It was just a _dance_, Charles!" Julienne cried, forgetting to remain quiet. "And I am _not _forty! And I most certainly am not dallying with Simon Reynolds or any other man for that matter."

"And even if she was," Emmy added, looking at her husband, "It is no concern of yours. Julienne has a father to look out for her best interests. You have daughters of your own to worry about!"

"Which is precisely why I worry about my sisters!" Charles argued, "Because I think of the fact that someday, it could be my daughters in the same position…and believe me, Emmeline, it will be far worse when they grow up." Emmy looked upward.

"Heaven help me." She muttered, rubbing her swollen middle.

Julienne turned her thoughts from her brother to the very man in question. She'd once had a girlish crush on Simon Reynolds, but it had quickly been squashed when he'd begun to court Darya Westcliff, his best friend's sister. Darya had soon found out that Simon could not be tamed, however, when she caught him kissing another girl at a party they were attending. The two remained friends, but Simon had earned quite a reputation since then and it was no secret that he bedded a different woman practically every night.

Not that she cared…in fact; Julienne quite enjoyed her life and her parents were very understanding of the situation. Her mother had been a writer in her own right with a few novels published. It was, in fact, how her parents had met. Her mother had been doing research for her novel and her father had ended up being the subject of the story. Of course, everything was embellished slightly in the book, but it was strange to think that it was a true story. Julienne had always admired her mother, who found time to write books and raise six children all while taking care of her father. Dad couldn't have been prouder of her, though he was getting on in years now. It was terrifying to Julienne, to think of a time when her father was going to be gone. He was as healthy as a horse at seventy-four years old, and looked years younger. His black hair had several streaks of gray twined in, but he liked to joke that as his skin became more wrinkled, both sides of his face were starting to look the same.

Julienne's father had been born with a terrible deformity on the right side of his face, and, though he was very handsome on the one side, his other side was tragic. It had affected the entire outcome of his life…So, he wore a mask over the right half of his face and that was that. He was happy…her mother couldn't have loved him more if he'd been born with two flawless cheeks. All in all, Julienne was a very happy, content person. Still, deep down, there was the gnawing loneliness and the bed that she had all to herself. At twenty-five years old, Julienne knew how it worked; Claire had told her everything after her wedding night. It sounded awful to Julienne anyway, but Claire had seemed to like it. And Julienne thought she might at least enjoy the closeness of someone else if not the actual act of lovemaking. The thought of lying naked with someone like Simon gave her a strange tingling feeling low in her body and she shook her head, ridding herself of the thought.

* * *

Esme stood with her sister Bella and her niece Nessa, who had just arrived in Paris that morning with the children in tow. They had come a few days early for little Knox's birthday party and planned to spend much of the summer here. Esme was glad because she was very close with Bella, who had always been her favorite sister. Four year old Nessa had the exact same color hair as her brother and father, but everything else about her was Bella, though she was a bit more graceful than Bella had been.

Her sister was the Marchioness of Keating, which was quite a high rank and from what their parents had told her, Bella was quite a beloved staple in London Society. People were drawn to her warmth and her soft beauty. Bella had once written that if she wore a ripped old jumper and let her hair hang in tangles, that the rest of London would follow suit. Somehow, since attaining her social status, Bella had become quite an admired woman with her charity work and the time she spent tending other people. The tenants on the Keating land in the country adored both Bella and Tris.

"Mama," Nessa said in her quiet little voice, "Would it be all right with you if I went and visited with Grandmere and Grandpere for a bit?" Bella nodded and Nessa quickly bounded to where her parents were sitting surrounded by children. It was quite a funny picture, Esme had to admit. Knox sat in their father's lap while the three older boys gathered at their feet and Nessa crawled into Esme's mother's arms. Dad was telling them an old story and the children looked enthralled. Added into the mix were their cousin Amelia and Gaston Belgrave's children, thirteen year old Claude, seven year old Demi and four year old Wyatt. Amelia held their youngest, ten month old Sydney, who had been named for the simple fact that she had been conceived in St. Denis, a suburb of Paris. Their oldest child, Jane, was sixteen and stood near Bella as well. Before she had married Tris, Bella had been a governess to Jane and Claude and had remained very close with the children.

The Holdens still had not arrived and Esme suspected it had something to do with Lillian's broken engagement. It disgusted Esme that Lillian had loved Mercer for so long only to have her heart bro ken in the end. Her mood improved greatly when she saw Nadir Khan and Roger walk in a few moments later, though Esme did not run straight to Roger as she always had. Something was holding her back now…some odd form of self consciousness. Perhaps it was the way his golden hazel eyes lingered on her for a moment too long. Or the way his coat fit him in exactly the right places.

Esme had never been attracted to a man before…not in the lusty sense that romance novels talked about. She'd thought a man handsome and good looking, but never had she felt the primal urge to touch the tanned skin at the hollow of his throat or run her hands over his day old stubble. And certainly, never had Esme allowed herself to entertain any romantic notions about Roger! She had always loved Roger, certainly, but not in the way Bella loved Tris or Charles loved Emmy. But did he love her?

He had always been very kind to her and protective, but recently, he seemed different. He'd bought her a beautiful necklace for her birthday...It made Esme wonder if things were changing between them. She'd known him since she was born, but Roger had never seemed like a brother to her. There had always been an odd, unspoken connection between them, but Esme had been too young too notice it. Still, she couldn't say for sure it was love. After all, he was nine years older than she was! He probably thought of her as a silly baby…Esme nearly laughed at herself out loud as he came toward her. Roger was still Roger and she was still Esme…and nothing was going to change. She just needed to stop reading so many romance novels and the intriguing saga in the Paris Times by the anonymous author that everyone was talking about. Every Saturday, Esme rushed to the door to get the paper so that she could pour over the latest chapter of _Evanna's Secret. _

It was a story about a young girl who had run away from home when she had given herself to the man she had intended to marry and found out he was married already. Soon, Evanna found she was with child and was disowned by her religious family. She had been taken in by a young Duke, who had agreed to let her stay on as a servant and raise her child there. It had just gotten to a part where Evanna had begun to like the Duke after seeing his kindness with the young gardening boy. The story was all anyone talked about lately.

Roger kissed Bella's cheek first, and Bella laughed. "You are so tall now; you practically have to bend at the waist to look in my face !" She exclaimed. Roger shrugged, kissing Jane's hand. Esme smiled to herself as the girl blushed and Roger turned to her.

"Esme." He said, nodding down at her.

"How are you this afternoon?" Esme asked him, taking the arm he offered. He looked oddly tired as he sighed, moving them away from Bella and Jane.

"I've had better days." He admitted, sounding entirely unlike himself. "Uncle Nadir and I had a bit of an argument this morning." Esme was sure her eyes had grown as wide as saucers.

"I don't believe I've ever heard of you two having a row." She said in surprise. He nodded in defeat.

"I asked him about my father and he went into conniptions about how it was better not to dredge up the past and to let them lie in peace." Roger took a long breath. "I said some things I regret…and now I feel awful because I don't think he's well." Esme frowned, looking over at the elderly Daroga, who did look thin.

"Has he seen a doctor?" She inquired and Roger nodded.

"He tells me nothing. Uncle Nadir claims it's just old age, but I know better. He's eighty-four…it's not going to be long." Roger looked a bit lost for a moment. "When he goes, I'm going to have no one and I suppose I've been curious about my father's family because they are all I'll have left when he passes."

"You'll always have us, Roger." Esme reminded him. He did not smile, but a sadness came into his eyes that made her heart lurch.

"I can't expect you all to tolerate me forever. Soon, you'll all have lives of your own." He said wistfully. Esme took his hand into hers and carefully placed his fingers between hers. "And besides, I want to know who my family is…I'm curious to see all of them. To know if I have cousins and Uncles and Aunts. Grandparents…" Esme understood. It must have been difficult for Roger to be around the Destlers who had scores of cousins and Aunts and Uncles…Esme was very lucky that her Grandmere Giselle was still alive too.

"You know we don't just merely tolerate you." Esme scolded him gently, noticing that her older brother's keen eyes had settled on the pair of them. She gave him a look of warning to let him know that she wasn't going to stand for his overprotective nature when it came to Roger. "We love you, Roger." His lips curved slightly upward as he nodded.

"Of course, I didn't mean it like that at all." He remedied, putting a smile on his face. "We should go sit with your poor sister-in-law and brother before she kills him." He added, pulling her gently toward Charles and Emmy.

* * *

"Lily, sweetheart?" Lillian looked up from the _Paris Times _to see her mother standing in the doorway. "Are you coming to Charles's?" Lillian shook her head, sighing and setting the paper aside.

"I'd rather just stay here." She said quietly. Fern Holden's blue eyes were full of concern as she stared at her daughter. "I can't face everyone yet." Lillian admitted.

"Oh, Lily." Fern said, moving closer to her oldest child and sitting beside her. "Your father is so worried about you, and I practically have had to lock him in a room to keep him from going and murdering Mercer." Lillian laughed, thinking of her usually sweet tempered father going after her ex-fiancé.

"You would have to go with him!" Lily grinned at her mother. "Papa is far too sweet to murder someone…though his intent is appreciated."

"Don't underestimate him, Lillian." Maman said with a smirk. "He can be very persuasive and commanding when he wants." Lillian cringed, knowing what her mother was hinting at.

"Mother, that is disgusting. You two are like animals…"

"We did have seven children." Fern agreed. "But I really hate the thought of you staying in alone." She said. Lillian hugged her mother, appreciative of her warmth.

"I am just going to rest." She said. "I promise." Lillian watched her mother hesitate before she turned back to _Evanna's Secret_, though she couldn't for the life of her remember one word of what she'd already read. With a sigh, she pushed away from her small desk and got out of the chair. Since the termination of her engagement, she hardly knew herself anymore. Lillian had become so immersed in being Mercer Arnott's fiancée that she didn't remember how to just be Lillian Holden. That girl seemed a stranger to her.

Looking at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, she hardly recognized herself. The girl she had been five years earlier was gone and replaced with someone older, wiser and less hopeful. Time had slipped out from under her and now it was nearly too late for her. James's words from the other night still echoed through her mind…

_I will have you Lily Holden…and I'm not going to let Mercer Arnott or any other tosser muck it up again._

She had scolded herself, and it seemed so strange what had happened between them that she wondered if she hadn't simply dreamt it. She knew she hadn't though…every instinct inside her told her that James had really been there and that he was real.

Lillian was disgusted with the wonton way she had reacted to him, especially since the two had barely been on speaking terms for half a decade. She had concluded that it was simply her being vulnerable due to Mercer's betrayal…and she was still aching…hurting so badly that sometimes it felt like her heart was truly ripping in half. She had been nothing to him but a stepping stone, while she had given her heart easily to him. Thankfully, she had been very insistent on staying chaste. While she had loved Mercer, she had outright refused to lie with him without a wedding band on her finger. He had pressured her more than once, but she was determined, and though she knew deep down he hadn't been happy with her refusal, he'd always claimed that he respected her decision.

Biting her lip, she wondered if things would have been different if she had lain with Mercer. The thought of it now sickened her…to think she could have wasted her virginity on a man who tossed her aside as easily as yesterday's bread.

As she heard her family leave, Lillian padded over to her bed and laid down on it, sinking into the soft cushiony bed clothes. For a long time, she stared at the wall with a blissfully blank mind.

* * *

James sat in his sister's parlor, waiting for her to emerge from tending to her crying baby. He had resorted to begging his younger sister for advice on ladies…or one lady in particular. Darya appeared with the ailing baby in her arms, attempting to soothe the little girl.

"She's teething." Darya said, rocking her tenderly. "So you finally admitted your feelings to Lily?"

"Not exactly." He said uneasily. "After Lady Dorset's birthday…I somehow ended up at her doorstep when I found out Mercer Arnott had ended it with her. I don't even remember telling the driver to take me there. But she invited me in…and before I knew it, she was kissing me!" Remembering the fierce way she had thrown herself at him, he tried to push it out of his mind. "I know it was merely an act of vulnerability, but you know how I have felt for Lillian." Darya stared at him with her light eyes.

"You haven't told Mother this, have you?" She asked quietly. He shook his head.

"No one in the world but you and I…and Lily knows."

"It isn't going to be easy, James." Darya said, shifting the baby to her other arm. "I remember what it's like to be hurt by a man. You have to give her time to heal before she can even think of being with someone else."

"I've wasted so much time with her already." James replied sheepishly. "What should I do?"

"You need to be her friend." Darya said simply. "Remember how close the two of you were so long ago? You need to rebuild that comfort…she needs to know she can count on you."

"And that actually works?" He asked. Darya nodded.

"For you two it will…because she had already been so close with you…take her on outings…lie in the grass together like children…make her remember how it was when you were children."

He thought back to when they had really only been children…she, a girl of thirteen and he seventeen. They had talked for hours lying in the meadow behind her parents' home while her sisters played around them. Life had been so much easier then, when romance wasn't a thought. Once she had begun to change physically, he'd found himself unable to act normally around her. It had been obvious even then that she would be pretty. And, being an eighteen year old male, he was an idiot.

"I'll try." He said lamely. Darya grinned at him, while the baby lulled to sleep in her arms.

"Whatever you do…don't come on too strongly. It will scare her." She reminded him as he rose to leave. He made a noise of disgust.

"It's taken me eleven bloody years to get this far, Darya." He replied dryly, "I wouldn't worry too much." She giggled as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Touching the baby's black curls, he gave his sister a small smile before walking toward the door.

"Where are you going now, Jamie?" She asked, using his childhood nickname.

"To try to remember what I was like as a child." He laughed mirthlessly. "Good Lord, this had better work, Dar. I can't lose her again."

"You won't." Darya replied confidently as he left her.

* * *

Simon stared at the woman in his bed, horrified. A young, lovely widow who had lust on her mind. Things had been going smoothly with her, and they'd all but sealed the deal when he'd gotten her into the bed and found himself at a loss. He felt no satisfaction whatsoever at the sight of her lying on his sheets.

Her brown eyes filled with concern at his hesitation.

"Simon?" She asked, reaching for him. He stayed back, only able to stare down at her in shock.

"I can't." He said, more as an exclamation to himself than to her. "I can't do it." Confusion darkened her pretty face. "Put your clothes back on Pansy." He said quietly, turning from her and pulling his shirt off of the floor. She was at his back at once, pressing a kiss to his neck which he shrugged away from. "No." He growled. "Just go."

She gave him a look of distress before hastily pulling her clothing back on and fleeing from the room. Simon stared at the door she had disappeared through.

What the hell was the matter with him?

Never since he had been a very young man had he been unable to follow through with a woman. In fact, everything had been going swimmingly for him until he danced with that damned spinster at the Dorset's home. He'd thought about her nonstop, her face, the shade of blue her eyes were…he tried to imagine what her silky black hair would look like down around her shoulders.

Vaguely, he remembered the way she had looked before, back even before Claire had married Chagny. She'd been all girlish curls and bows then…a skinny, pretty little thing. But now she was all curves and she was untouchable.

There was only one solution. He had to bed her…and soon, if he wanted things to return to the way they were.


	4. Alone

"Lily, you have a visitor." The Holdens' kindly housekeeper, Marina said, appearing in the doorway. She was a plump, motherly woman, always willing to help with the children and anything else Lillian's mother needed. Lillian and her siblings loved her, she'd been with her parents since they'd married. Her children had been grown and gone when she'd come into service for Fern and Dag and she was like part of the family now. Lillian surveyed her reflection in the mirror, frowning at the dark circles and drawn skin.

"You look fine…" Marina assured her, drawing her toward the door. "He's in the drawing room."

"Oh, that's fine, I suppose we should have some tea, though I'd rather some hot coffee and--" Lillian stopped, her eyes widening. "He? It's a man?" Immediately her heart leapt at the prospect of Mercer coming back to tell her he was sorry and that he'd made a mistake. The moment after that thought was one of complete self disgust. She hoped it was Mercer! So she could give him a piece of her mind!

"Monsieur James Westcliff." Marina told her. Lillian's heart began to thump even faster, remembering their feverish kisses a few nights before. He'd probably come to gloat or tease her. She felt her face grow hot as she covered her cheeks with her hands. Following Marina down to the drawing room, she felt like a prisoner walking to the gallows, dreading James's reaction.

He was facing away from her, his dark hair glossy in the afternoon sunlight. He wore a casual day suit. Hearing her enter, James turned around and smiled at her. Lillian noted that there was no hint of malice there, in fact, he was smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be standing in her parlor.

"James," She said with a sigh, slipping into an armchair. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She knew she sounded a bit uncharitable, but truly, she was exhausted. He seemed to draw forth a basket from nowhere, it was packed with various foods and sweets. A roguish grin much like the one he'd had as a boy was on his face.

"I thought you could use a reprieve from your misery, Lillian." James said, "I thought you might like to join me for lunch in the meadow behind the house?" Staring at him incredulously, she remembered her parents were gone at Knox's party still.

"You're serious?" She asked. Nodding, he held up a blanket he'd brought along too. It was an odd change, but Lillian had to give James credit. He was trying…she wasn't sure why, but he was at least being kind. "Oh, all right." She agreed, standing up and following him out back to where the meadow had just begun to become overgrown with wildflowers. The soft grass was green and the air smelled beautiful. James handed her the basket of food and laid the blanket down.

Lillian sat and began to rifle through the food, pulling out some sandwiches, two small coffee cakes, four cookies and various other things. James sat cross legged across from her, twirling a flower between his fingers as he reached for a cookie.

"Remember the time I made a crown out of those and made you wear it?" Lillian said, gesturing to the flower he'd just mangled and tossed aside. James smiled and nodded, unable to talk because his mouth was full. He made a noise of amusement though. "And I made one for myself and said that you were the King and I was the Queen, and this meadow was our kingdom…"

"I remember." James said, swallowing the cookie. Lily sighed, picking one of the pretty yellow flowers.

"I miss those days." She admitted. "I miss not having to worry about finding a husband…and romance…and…and…everything. You know?"

"Yes." He said. Tilting her head, Lillian studied him.

"You're different." She observed and when his eyes widened, she held her hands up reassuringly. "In a good way…you were so obnoxious before…teasing me all the time."

"I'm sorry about that, Lillian." He replied sincerely. "I've missed being friends with you."

"Me too." She confessed. "It was just…you're four years older, so when you grew up and went off to school…I felt like you left me behind. And then you came back and you weren't the same. You were so handsome and smart…and I felt so…inferior I guess."

James let out a small sound of surprise.

"I didn't know how to act around you anymore. I came home expected to find the skinny fourteen year old I'd said goodbye to. And you were a woman…"

"I was still me." Lillian reminded him. "It hurt…I felt like you were making fun of me." Unable to meet his eyes, she focused very intently on the wild flower. "And…it was hard for me too…seeing girls around you. Especially when my last memory of you before you went away to college was…well, you remember."

James nodded, his eyes glowing with the memory of their goodbyes to one another as he'd prepared to go off for four years to school. He'd given her his first kiss that day. It hadn't been passionate, but she'd never forgotten it. And she'd never been able to tell him how she felt before he'd left. Lillian had pushed the memory to the back of her mind, shrugging it off as childhood love and nothing more.

"You never wrote me." She added, almost accusingly. James met her eyes regretfully.

"You know, I tried so many times to write you back, but I never knew what to say." He laughed without mirth. "What could I have said?"

"Anything," She insisted. "Anything at all to tell me you were thinking of me. That you were still my friend." Lillian unwrapped one of the small sandwiches and took a bite out of it.

"I'm sorry, Lil." James said, still looking at her. She shrugged.

"It was twelve years ago, James." She replied, then changed course. "What made you want to relive our childhood today?"

"I could tell you need a friend." James said, "I know you. When you're upset, you disappear into yourself. And it's not healthy."

"I do not--" She began to protest, but he cut her off.

"Why then, are you at home alone, instead of at Charles's son's birthday party?" He challenged.

"You're right." She said helplessly. "I don't know what to do, James." Bitter tears stung her eyes. "Some minutes I think I'll be fine and then I remember and it all comes crashing back. How could he?" Her voice broke. "How could I have let it get that far?" He remained quiet, listening as she needed him to. "I knew…deep down…I knew he wasn't going to marry me. The way he kept pushing the date back and stalling…but I still clung to hope."

"You loved him, Lillian." James said, sounding pained. "There's no shame in that."

"But look at me now, James." She said with a sniff. "I'm useless…old…"

"Don't say things like that." James scolded her, scooting to sit beside her.

"But it's t-true." Lillian replied.

"Listen to me, Lillian." James said, putting a soothing arm over her hunched shoulders. "You've just lost your way…but when you find it again, everything is going to work for you…you'll see. In the meantime, you need to give yourself time to heal. It will do you no good to worry about these trivial things."

"You sound so sure." She said, hating the nasally tone of her voice due to crying.

"I am sure." He replied. Lillian carefully took his free hand and turned it upward to look at his palm. There were a few calluses there, and she ran her finger tips over them, smiling to herself at the rough skin. Slowly, she slid her fingers between his much larger ones and held his hand. When she looked up at his face, he was not smiling, but was staring at her with a look of mild shock. Daring herself even further, she allowed her head to rest against his shoulder.

"Will you come back tomorrow too?" Lillian heard herself ask. He tensed beneath her.

"If you want." James said in a tight voice.

"I do." She insisted. "There's something I want to show you."

* * *

Julienne walked through the market with Esme, having run to fetch some eggs and things for their mother to cook with. Even though the Destlers had a cook, Evangeline liked to make dinner often having been raised modestly. And their father claimed that he never ate so well as he did when Maman cooked. Today, Julienne wore a modest blue dress with a collar and white gloves. Both girls had hats on to shield themselves from the sun and Julienne wore her drawstring purse around her slim wrist with the money in it. Esme had on a dress of pale yellow, which complimented the fiery color of her beautiful hair perfectly.

Esme had seemed distracted since Knox's party the day before. Something was bothering the child, Julienne could always tell. Since she had been very young, Esme had been an extremely intelligent girl, but she was an open book.

"What is the matter?" Julienne asked, examining an egg as Esme sighed.

"Nothing." She replied tiredly. "Couldn't sleep last night is all."

"Ah." Julienne said, bending down to see how ripe the apples were. As she was bent, she heard a quiet chuckle from behind her, followed by her sister's voice.

"Monsieur Reynolds!" Esme said sounding pleasantly surprised. Julienne shot upward, but unfortunately, she hit her head on the wooden plank above where she had been inspecting the apples and reeled backward. Her eyes saw stars for a quick moment as a pair of strong hands caught her underneath the arms and set her to rights. He did not let go of her right away because she swayed. Swiftly, he produced the apple she had dropped in the process and she snatched it out of his hands.

"I was just passing through with my younger sister Anna, and thought I would come over and say hello. I had such a nice time talking with you the other night." Simon said to her. Julienne's face flushed at Esme's questioning glance.

"Oh…er…me too." Julienne said, unsure of how to respond.

"I was wondering…I have an extra ticket to the opera this weekend, and I was thinking perhaps you might like to join me." He said, crossing his arms casually. Julienne could only stare at him in slack jawed shock. There had been a time when she would have blurted yes right away, but she was no longer that girl. And Simon Reynolds was a notorious skirt chaser. Seeing her hesitation, he laughed. "As _friends._" He remedied.

"Well I don't--"

"She'd love to come." Esme answered for her, stomping on Julienne's foot. Turning her glare on her shorter, younger sister, Julienne gritted her teeth.

"Yes." She said, forcing herself to smile at Simon. "That would be lovely." A slight smirk curved his lips as he nodded down at her.

"Perfect. Shall I pick you up say, around five o'clock so we can eat dinner before?"

"Monsieur Reynolds, do you have designs on me?" Julienne asked as Esme cleared her throat.

"Oh, I have many designs on you." Simon laughed darkly. "But don't worry, I won't debauch you…yet."

At his words, a sharp thrill of fear and longing swept through her, but she managed to keep calm.

"Rake." She accused with a grin. Shrugging, Simon did not deny it and bent to kiss her hand.

"Five o'clock. Saturday." He said, nodding down at Esme before walking away.

"Are you crazy?" Julienne cried, turning on her younger sister.

"Oh, come off it, Jules. You're a spinster…if your last chance for a husband is Simon Reynolds, you could do worse." Esme said devilishly. "Aren't you always talking about reformed rakes?"

"Oh, shut up." Julienne replied moodily, returning to the task of shopping for groceries.

* * *

Roger stared at the sign on the building for a full five minutes before walking inside. A male clerk sat at the desk, looking up as Roger walked inside. His eyes narrowed, assessing him before he greeted him sharply.

"Can I help you?"

"I would like to speak with Monsieur Delacour." Roger told the spindly clerk. "I am in need of some detective work."

"One moment." The man said, disappearing into another door. He returned a few moments later.

"M. Delacour will see you." He said, gesturing to the open door. Franc Delacour was a short, stout man with a bald head and a bulbous nose. He smiled at Roger as he walked in.

"Please, close the door behind you and have a seat. Would you like a drink?" He asked. Roger declined politely.

"Actually, I am looking for some answers about my past…that is, about my father's past." He drew forth the few items he had to validate who he was. His passport, his parents' marriage license and a miniature of his parents on their wedding day.

"Tiernay, eh?" The man said, putting on his glasses. "Irish…you're mixed aren't you?"

"My mother was Persian." Roger explained, feeling the small twinge of irritation at the word, 'mixed.'

"I'll need five hundred francs to start…and then, depending on how much work it is, I'll need another deposit at our next meeting." Delacour said, setting the papers aside in challenge. His eyes widened in surprise as Roger pulled out a wad of money and easily placed five hundred in front of the man. "Are there any other items that you may have that could be of use?" The man asked, composing himself. Reaching into the front inside pocket of his coat, Roger drew forth the only other thing he'd known to be his father's. A gold ring with the symbol of a sword through an apple on it. It had his initials. Delacour nodded.

"Where shall I contact you, M. Tiernay?" He asked, standing. Quickly, Roger wrote down the address of the house he lived in with Uncle Nadir. "Give the information to no one but me. If I am not home, do not put this information into the hands of anyone else."

"Ah, you are keeping it from someone." Delacour observed. Roger nodded curtly.

"My uncle. Leila was his sister. He does not want me to find anything."

"Perhaps he is wiser than you think." The detective replied, lighting a cigar. Roger gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I am tired of not knowing who I am." He said simply. "I want to belong to a family…my uncle is very old and he is sick, though he does not let on."

"Why not just find a nice wife and sire some brats?" The man asked, obviously of the opinion that children are a duty and not a privilege. Roger cringed, remembering a fortune teller's prediction from so long before once again, and thinking of Esme again.

"It isn't that simple." He replied and started toward the door. "I look forward to hearing from you."

* * *

"James, you missed supper." Roxana Westcliff told her son. "Where have you been?" James walked into the parlor and kissed his mother's cheek smelling the leftover food in the kitchen.

"I had lunch with a friend." He said, not giving her any details. Her dark eyes narrowed at him.

"You were with a girl, weren't you?" She asked. He shrugged, flopping onto a sofa and crossing his legs. Roxana's eyes widened. "Who?" She asked expectantly. James chuckled.

"It was nothing, Mother. We just ate lunch together. It was all very casual."

"Who, James?" She asked impatiently. James grinned at her.

"Lillian."

"Lillian _Holden_?" Roxana replied, bringing her hand to her lips. He nodded. "I thought the two of you weren't very good friends anymore."

"That's changed." He explained. "Her fiancé left her and I was helping her with it."

"Don't you dare take advantage of that poor girl when she's vulnerable." Roxana warned him, pointing a finger. He clutched his heart, feigning hurt.

"It's _Lillian_, mother." He reminded her. "How could I ever?"

"I'd heard about her broken engagement. Fern told me." His mother said sadly. "Poor dear. Perhaps we'll invite her family for supper this week. What do you think?"

"Splendid idea. Where's Dad got off to?" He asked. His mother rolled her eyes.

"He went off with your Uncle Andrew to the damned tavern for your grandfather's birthday." She said with an affectionate shake of the head. "I swear, those two should have been born twins. They have the same thoughts."

"Uncle Andrew's a bit sneakier though." James laughed. "Dad never could get anything by you."

"No love," Roxana agreed, "I'm just much, much smarter than your father, though he'd like to believe he's able to hoodwink me."

"Must be the Persian side." James quipped, kissing her forehead. "I think I'll see what's left to eat. I fancy a bit of peach pie."

* * *

Roger returned home to a quiet house, shutting the door softly behind him. It was just beginning to get dark outside. The sound of sharp coughing disrupted the quiet and Roger frowned, starting up the stairs to check on Uncle Nadir.

His elderly uncle was lying upright in bed with a book folded over his chest and his head hanging at an unseemly angle. Carefully, Roger moved to the bed and guided him into a laying position. Nadir woke up, sensing his presence.

"Roger…didn't hear you come in, my boy." He said as Roger set the book aside and frowned, studying his uncle.

"Did you take your medicine tonight, Uncle?" He asked, concerned. Nadir chuckled, waving his hand dismissively.

"Yes, yes…don't you worry about me." He assured Roger. "It's this damned cough. My lungs feel so heavy."

"The doctor said you have fluid in them, remember?"

"Yes, bloody doctor. I'm lucky to even be alive at this age, I s'pose." Nadir replied with a gravelly chuckle. "Have you been by Erik's today?"

"No." Roger said, arranging Nadir's pillows and lighting the kerosene lamp on his bedside table. "I had a few appointments."

"What sort of appointments?" Nadir asked, closing his eyes as Roger removed his spectacles.

"Just some quick business appointments…promotion for the firm is all." He lied. Roger had become a lawyer and was working for a high profile firm thanks to his Uncle's friendship with Erik Destler. Roger had hated that he'd been hired because he knew someone, but his boss assured him that he had earned his place. Nadir made a small noise of acknowledgment.

"Just want to see you happy, son." Nadir said sleepily. "You've been melancholy."

"I'm fine…I am sorry about our argument yesterday." Roger said, remembering their fight. "I just worry about you…and I worry about being alone."

"You won't be alone…when are you going to come round and ask Esme to marry you?"

"Uncle, she's barely eighteen." Roger laughed, running a hand through his thick hair. "And it isn't like that with her. I adore Es…but--"

"But what? It's obvious you two are very close." Nadir pointed out, his voice becoming more vague with sleep. "Ah, I'll leave you alone for now, son. I need to sleep a while."

Roger smiled to himself as he turned down the lamp and shut the door, leaving it open just a crack. Looking one last time at the closest thing to a parent he'd ever known, he swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in his throat at the thought of losing Nadir. The thought of being alone in the world was a terrifying thing.


	5. Faust

"I'm not going." Julienne said, taking off the third dress she'd put on. Esme rolled her eyes and picked another out of the pile of possibilities.

"You _are _going." Esme insisted, thrusting a blue dress into Julienne's hands and yanking the one she was removing out from under her. "I am not going to sit back and watch you live out the rest of your days with Maman and Dad." Holding the blue velvet up to her sister, they both shook their heads.

"Face it, Es," Julienne moaned, sinking to sit on the bed in her underclothes. "It's hopeless."

"Don't ever say that!" Esme scolded, digging through the pile. She quickly discarded a peach, a yellow and a light green dress until she came to the final gown, made of lavender satin and lace. Making a noise of approval, she pulled Julienne up to her feet and opened the gown for Jules to step into.

"Do you honestly think I could pull this off?" Julienne asked skeptically, pulling it up so Esme could button it up the back. It had a filmy overlay of organza with beaded flowers sewn onto it and it sat off the shoulders with lightly puffed sleeves. Esme nodded, adjusting the straps on it as well and smoothing the train.

"Jules, when you turn around you can tell me." Esme told her, moving to the vanity to pick up the white full length gloves to complete the ensemble.

"I can't believe I am doing this." Julienne muttered, and Esme laughed, putting a jeweled hairpiece into her taller sister's black pile of curls.

"Turn around." Esme laughed, guiding her. She gave the clock a quick glance and bit her lip. "Four fifty." She said aloud and Julienne made a noise of alarm.

"I can't do this!" Her older sister cried, coming undone at the seams. Esme took her by the shoulders very firmly and looked up into her sister's face.

"Listen to me." Esme said, meeting her sister's eyes which were identical to her own. "You _can_ do this. Look at me." Taking Julienne's cheeks in her small hands, she forced her sister to look down at her. "You are going to go with Simon tonight…and you're going to have a marvelous time. Right?" Reluctantly, Jules nodded. Smiling at her sister, Esme turned her toward the mirror. "Now you tell me…can you pull this off?"

* * *

Simon was glad he was a person who always arrived early rather than late, because it seemed like he was waiting for ages when he was shown into the front parlor of the Destlers' home. Monsieur Destler was already at the opera house, overseeing everything for the show that night, which Simon was frankly thankful for, since even at his age, Destler was a formidable presence. Madame Destler sat with him, making small talk while they waited for Julienne to come down from her room.

"Forgive her," Madame Destler said with a small smile, "She's very nervous, though she would kill me for telling you." Simon smiled at the woman charmingly.

"It is no trouble, Madame." He replied graciously. "I have always gotten along with Julienne and I am very pleased that she accepted."

Female voices coming from the hall interrupted their conversation as Simon heard what must be the end of a delightful conversation between Julienne and her younger sister.

"Esme for goodness sake, stop _pulling_ at me!" Julienne was saying, making Simon smirk.

"Calm down." The other hissed. There was a moment before they appeared in the doorway, looking calm and collected. Esme smiled brightly at Simon, and went to sit near her mother while Julienne inched forward. Simon's eyebrows raised approvingly as he raked his gaze discreetly over her. Her lavender gown sat off of her shoulders and the bodice was nicely fitted, pushing her bosom upward. It was a definite improvement over her choice of dress the previous week.

A pretty pink flush colored her cheeks as she shyly met his eyes. She made a gesture of defeat, looking embarrassed, but he grinned at her.

"This is a surprise." He said softly, bending to kiss her hand. "You look beautiful."

"My sister dressed me." Julienne admitted through gritted teeth, obviously trying to ignore her mother and sister's wide smiles.

"Admirable job, Mademoiselle Destler." Simon said, turning to Esme. The girl simply shrugged and he could not deny how much he liked the child, who was really no longer a child. "Well, our dinner reservations are for six o'clock at the _Nouritture de Luxe._" He told her, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

"I will see you both there." Julienne said, sounding more like she was assuring herself. Madame Destler nodded. Simon was on his best behavior as he walked Julienne out to his carriage and helped her inside. He could see how nervous she was as she seemed to try and shrink into the farthest corner possible. Gently as he could, he reached over and slid her over to sit more comfortably.

"I'm still not going to debauch you yet, Mademoiselle." He chuckled, waggling his eyebrows at her and gaining a small smile. Simon had to bit the inside of his cheek from making a noise of satisfaction at her smile. Julienne Destler was beautiful…there was no denying that. "There's that smile." He murmured, reaching out to brush her chin with his fingertips. She let out an audible gasp. "Sorry." He laughed, crossing his legs and relaxing.

"Simon, may I ask you a question?" She asked suddenly. He met her eyes and nodded.

"Certainly."

"Are you truly opposed to marriage?" Her voice was so full of innocence for a supposed spinster that he had to laugh out loud.

"I am not entirely opposed to marriage, but I am in no hurry either. I quite enjoy having my freedom to do as I please." He said without remorse. "What of you, Mademoiselle? Why have you not married? Certainly not because you are plain…" Again, she blushed, but a reluctant smile curved her lips. Simon had the absurd urge to feel those lips against his own, but suppressed it.

"I don't see the need." She said with a simple shrug. "I feel very fulfilled in my single life and I don't need to have the protection of a man to feel safe." Simon tilted his head, staring at the enigmatic creature.

"I see." He said, though he didn't. All women wanted marriage and children…surely she was bluffing. It made him uncomfortable to think this woman didn't need a husband. It gave him the worst urge to prove to her that she should be married. How, he wasn't sure, but it made him very uncomfortable to hear her speak nonchalantly about these matters. "And I am sure children are unneeded as well."

"Monsieur," Julienne said, giving him a pointed look, "As you can see, there is no shortage of children in my family. I have three married sisters and one married brother…all with children. I am a very content Aunt."

"But it isn't the same as having children of your own, Julienne." He said, reminding her. Simon though he saw a flicker of pain in her sky blue eyes, but he may have imagined it since a moment later, she was glaring at him.

"What are you getting at?" She asked, raising one thin, ebony eyebrow. "What, are _you_ going to propose and show me what I'm missing?" A sharp laugh escaped her, wounding him inside.

"Good God, no." He said, forcing himself to chuckle. "I have no interest in marriage! I just find it difficult to believe that a lovely girl such as yourself has no desire to be a wife and mother…"

"I have bigger plans for myself." Julienne said, giving him a scathing glance. "Why should you be above marriage? Soon you'll find yourself forty with thinning hair and wrinkles around your eyes…you won't be so handsome…and if you don't fix yourself soon, you'll be alone and it will be too late for you to catch a pretty girl." Her tone was aggressive, and her words hit him precisely where she'd obviously intended. The thought of being old, bald and alone was not a welcome one.

"You are an interesting female, Julienne." Simon said quietly, ignoring the way her observation had made him nervous. They did not talk the remainder of the drive.

The opera was called _Faust_, but Simon could not tell anyone who asked what it had been about. He'd been entirely distracted throughout the entire show by Julienne. Her perfume had a soft, exotic scent and he found himself wondering if all of her smelled like that. At another point, one tendril of silky black hair had escaped the back of her elegant coiffure and was lying over her creamy bare shoulders. Which led to another problem; Her beautiful lavender gown, though innocently modest, showed the smallest hint of cleavage and drove him mad. By the end of the opera, Simon was exhausted from hiding his obvious arousal and infatuation with Julienne. Thankfully, she had adored Faust, and hadn't noticed his ogling her in the darkened theater.

"…It's just so dark and beautiful…" Julienne was saying as she held his arm on the way to the ballroom for the opening night gala. "I thought Arianna did an admirable job as Marguerite…" Simon made some indistinct noise of acknowledgment. She paused as they came to the doorway into the ballroom and he watched her bite her lip, sighing heavily.

"What is it?" He asked gently and she turned her blue eyes up to meet his.

"I hate this." She admitted. "I hate having to be around everyone in society and have them look at me with pity because I am a spinster." Simon's lips twisted into a smirk.

"I thought you said you didn't want or need a husband." At her glare, he added, "Your words, Julie."

"My name is _Julienne_." She said testily, letting go of his arm.

"I quite like Julie…it suits you." He insisted charmingly. "Would you like to dance?"

"People will talk." Julienne said quietly. A low chuckle left him.

"Sweetheart, they're already talking. It's obvious that we came together." He said, pulling her out onto the floor for the upbeat dance.

"But we're just here as friends." She replied lamely. He grinned in amusement.

"If I really thought you believed that, then you wouldn't be as smart as I give you credit for, Julie." He whispered into her ear before twirling her around. "You know as well as I that this is a courtship."

"But you don't want marriage." Julienne said as he turned her easily. Simon raised an eyebrow at her.

"Who said anything about marriage?" He asked with a wry grin and she laughed in surprise.

"You are a devil." She said, letting him lift her in the dance.

"Thank you." He answered, setting her to her feet as the music ended and they clapped politely for the musicians. A group of society matrons approached the two of them, all of them with daughters on their arms. Simon groaned.

"Here they come, swarming to marry off their daughters." He said, pulling Julienne tightly against his side. "Don't you dare leave me." She giggled.

"And miss this chance to see you squirm? Never." He scowled as three women thrust their daughters before him.

"Monsieur Reynolds, how nice to see you here!" One of them said, eying Julienne as if she were a bothersome insect. Julienne folded her arms challengingly. "May I present my daughter, Adele?"

"Charmed." Simon said kindly, kissing her hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Julienne redden and swallowed another smirk.

"You must promise Adele a dance." The mother said and Simon put an arm around Julienne, who jumped.

"Ah, I would, but you see," He looked affectionately down at Julienne, "Mademoiselle Destler is my guest tonight, and it wouldn't be right for me to dance with someone else." Simon watched as the mother turned a glare at Julienne before smiling up at Simon again.

"How_ kind_ of you, Monsieur," She replied tartly, "That you would bring a spinster like Mademoiselle Destler out so that she too could enjoy a party." Julienne went pale. "How _nice_ for you _dear._" The woman said, pulling her daughter in the direction of another group of young men. The other two women and their offspring followed them. Simon's blood boiled. How dare that woman say hurtful things to an innocent girl because he wasn't interested in her daughter?

"Julie?" He asked, looking down at his companion with concern. She was white as a sheet. "Julienne?" He asked again. Slight recognition came into her eyes as she looked up at him. The brilliant blue orbs were sparkling like they had diamonds in them.

Or tears.

"No…Julie, don't listen to that—" He couldn't finish, however, because she had bolted away from him, crashing unceremoniously through a group of people. Simon moved after her, careful not to hit anyone, and saw her run out the front door of the opera house. Vaguely, he saw James as he ran toward the door. His friend turned to look at him as he ran past and he called out something that Simon could not hear and did not care to hear. The only thing that concerned him was finding Julienne. A vision of her running into the street and being run down by a carriage played through his mind like a nightmare.

The air outside was warm for an April night. He did not see her right away, but a small sound like a gasp came from behind one of the pillars and a flash of a lavender skirt caught his eye. Gently, he approached where she was leaning dejectedly against the stone pillar, her face streaked with moisture. A great sigh left him as he moved to stand beside her.

"It does matter." She said after a moment, acknowledging his presence. "It does matter to me. I _hate_ that I'm not married. I hate that I might never be someone's mother…It _matters_." She sniffed, taking his handkerchief when he offered it to her. "Thank you." Julienne's voice broke. Unsure of what he should do, he put his hand on her shoulder and was mildly panicked when she turned toward him and buried her face in his chest. Awkwardly, he patted the back of her silky head.

"I don't think you've lost that chance, Julie." He heard himself tell her. "Any man would be crazy not to fall over you. Besides," He added with a small laugh, "You're filthy rich."

"Oh that's reassuring." She said, her voice muffled in his jacket, but he thought he felt her smile. Very cautiously, he crooked his finger underneath her chin and tilted her head upward to look at her. Her lips were very full, and though her eyes were red and swollen from crying, they were still the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

"You're beautiful." He told her, vaguely aware that thunder rumbled in the distance.

"It's going to storm." She said, swallowing. Simon nodded, running his thumb over her velvety bottom lip as he moved closer to her. Placing his other hand on her smooth neck, he felt the rapid beat of her pulse beneath the pale skin. Another crash of thunder came, this time closer as the wind pick up. The sky lit up behind them, revealing dark clouds. Taking her hand, he pulled her with him into a small indented cubicle outside the Opera Populaire just as it began to pour. He gave her no time to protest, because he pressed her against the brick and sought her mouth with his.

Julienne gave no fight as he took her lips hungrily, uncaring whether anyone saw. She tasted like Heaven to him. Small breathy gasps came from her between kisses and he hands moved up between them, resting on his chest. Simon's hands traveled down to her waist and clutched her against him as he pressed his hardness against her. Julienne moaned his name into his mouth. Stooping, he put his knee between her thighs and held her easily that way, driven wild by the frantic way she moved against him as he kissed her.

"Let's go back to my house." He whispered seductively against her lips. "I'll take care of you…I'll be so good to you, Julie, please—" Immediately, she stopped responding and pushed him off of her. Simon stumbled backward in surprise, looking up to see fury in her face.

"You think I'm going to_ sleep_ with you?" She asked in disgust. He could only stare at her dumbly, panting with his extreme arousal. Sobering, she shook her head. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come tonight."

"Don't go." Simon said as she tried to pass him. He reached for her wrist, but she shoved him away.

"I'm not one of your little whores, Simon!" Julienne bit out indignantly. "The only way you will ever see me in your bed is as your wife!" Simon winced at the word as she stormed away, obviously in search of her sister and parents. He leaned against the cool bricks and tried to regain his bearings and sort through the wave of confusion he felt.

* * *

Lillian stood with her sisters Jane and Lucy and tried to stay calm. Both of their husbands had gone to retrieve some refreshments for the three of them, though Jane would have to settle for punch since she refused to drink champagne because she was in a delicate condition. Lucy was still barely married, and claimed that she and her husband Richard were waiting to have children so that they could enjoy their first year of marriage alone. It was obvious from the stares of everyone in the room that most people in attendance knew of her broken engagement and subsequent spinsterhood. It was slightly intimidating standing there with all of their pitying eyes on her.

Her mother and father hovered protectively around her, and while Lillian appreciated the gesture, she was being driven mad with inquiries about how she was feeling…if she wanted something to drink…if she was warm enough…Lillian loved her parents dearly, but they had been smothering her and their forced cheerfulness made her want to vomit.

Still, Lily would have rather endured that than the whispers she could not help but hear throughout the ballroom.

"…made her wait five years and just up and broke it off…"

"…bet you she's lain with him if she waited for so long…"

"…so naïve and now her youth is wasted…"

Lillian quickly excused herself and made her way feverishly through the crowd, looking for an escape. Though she had lived in Paris her entire life, she was completely unfamiliar with the Opera Populaire other than the theater and the ballroom. Her Uncle now owned it completely and she still had no idea where anything was and quickly found herself lost. Oddly, she didn't care because it was quiet. Somehow, she ended up in a back costume room with a metal staircase leading up into the rafters. Following it, she opened the heavy door at the top and stepped out onto the roof, which was a piece of artwork in itself. Stone statues of angels were all around and the dome window over the ballroom gave it a gentle glow.

Looking out across the sky, she saw a quick flash of light and a faint roll of thunder. Aimlessly, she wandered over the roof, reaching out to touch a statue where the angel's wings were spread magnificently. She was a beautiful angel, and Lillian tried to imagine being wrapped in her embrace, safe from everything…

The roof door opened and Lillian reeled backward, whirling around to face the intruder. A flood of relief calmed her as she saw James come out of the shadows.

"I saw you leave the ballroom. I was making sure you weren't sick…" His eyes drifted to the ledge of the roof. "Or suicidal." He added with a quick grin. Lillian gave him a small smile, but her heart wasn't in it.

"This is too hard." She said grimly. "I shouldn't have come tonight. It's too soon."

"I think so too." James agreed, moving closer and folding his arms as thunder cracked again. "Looks like rain." He mused. Lillian nodded, studying his profile. His features definitely favored his father more, but there was an exoticness to him that made it obvious he was not quite ordinary. His mother was half Persian, and though James had not inherited the amber tone of her skin, his hair was so black that it nearly appeared blue and was very thick. Lately, James had taken to cropping it close to the head, but she remembered when he'd worn it longer and it had gleamed in the sunlight. His eyes were a very light blue color too, like the color of ice. She'd always thought James handsome, but tonight in the dim light from the dome window, he looked like a Greek God to her.

Lillian looked up as she felt a drop of water on her face and another clap of thunder sounded. Leaning with her back against the statue, she rested her head against the cool stone and stared up at James, who had turned to look down at her again. He held out his hand to lead her back inside but she shook her head.

"No…stay with me." She said, holding his hand and keeping him there.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lil." He said. "I promise." Hesitantly, she reached up to run her fingertips along his jaw, feeling the promise of stubble there. A thrill ran through her at the course texture. She watched as he closed his eyes to her touch, holding her hand there. It began to rain truly then, with lightning flashing across the dark sky. "We should go inside…" He said, coming back to his senses. Lillian shook her head, reveling in the feel of the cool rain and taking a deep breath to smell the earthy goodness of it.

"Would you do something for me?" She asked, almost shyly. He nodded as it rained harder and his hair stayed flat against his forehead. He was lovely, glistening with water as he stared down at her and the storm heightened. Both of them were soaking wet, but she hardly noticed. "Will you kiss me?"

James stared at her for a long moment, quietly. He did not react to her question, he simply looked at her with water dripping down his nose and off of his body. Before she could say anything else, his wet hand cupped her cheek and he stooped to brush a soft, shallow kiss against her lips, leaning his forehead against hers. Straining, she tilted her head to kiss him again, and he did not resist, but he would not let her deepen the kiss. She drew back to look up at him inquiringly. Tenderly, he kissed her forehead, holding her against him in the pouring rain.

"You are vulnerable, Lillian." He said softly into her ear. "I don't want you to be confused when you choose me." A sharp pang of excitement darted down her spine. "When you tell me you want me…it will be only me you want...and not because you have a broken heart."

Lillian smiled, looking up at him with her ruined hairstyle hanging in wet tendrils around her face.

"Thank you." She said, holding his hand and pulling him under the protective wing of the angel.

"That was a test, wasn't it?" He asked, shaking some of the water off of his head. "You wanted me to refuse you."

"Yes." She admitted after a moment.

"Why?" He looked confused.

"To see if you were like Mercer." She replied regretfully, swallowing another lump in her throat. His icy blue eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean?" James's voice was suspicious. Lillian sighed, looking away from him.

"It was last Christmas…" She began, still holding his hand. "I was visiting him when he was in England for business and we were alone…" Lily heard James draw in a breath. "We were lying by the fire on the floor, and it was all very romantic…when he started to remove my clothes."

"Lily—" James began, looking very uncomfortable and slightly more than hurt. Lillian shook her head.

"I stopped him." She assured him, watching as James visibly relax. "But he was mad. He told me that it was wrong that I should keep leading him on and give him nothing in return…" Her bottom lip trembled. "He said I was a tease the way I always asked him to kiss me and he told me that I had hurt him because I wouldn't lay with him, but I said it was something for marriage…that I wanted to wait." Her face crumbled. "He was so _angry_ with me…and…and…he said 'Maybe that's why I haven't married you yet. Maybe I want to see what I'm getting before I'm stuck with it.'" Teary eyed, she stared up at James, whose face was solid and unforgiving as he looked at her. His eyes were blazing with rage and his jaw was set. If she had to guess, she would say he looked ready to snarl. It was sort of frightening. He let out a curse word that Lillian had only heard her father use once when he'd thought she wasn't in the room."

"He did apologize after that, but…but…things were never the same again with us. I heard from him less and less…and he stopped coming to visit so often and then…" She stopped, disgusted with herself. "I'm so _stupid_." James was still silent, the same murderous expression on his handsome face. "Please, say _something_."

"How _dare_ he?" James growled, looking into her eyes. Lillian's eyes widened. "How could he _do_ that to you? Make you wait five God damned years and then get angry when you refused to bed him?" He cursed again, making Lillian wince. A moment later, he softened, seeing her distress. Quickly, he pulled her against him. "No…I'm not angry with you, love." Her heart fluttered at his endearment. "I'm sorry for using such vile language around you…" Pulling back, he looked down into her wet, tear soaked face. "You've been holding this inside a long time, haven't you?" She managed to nod, wiping her cheeks with the back of her damp hand.

"I never told anyone…I was too embarrassed!"

"That was not your fault, Lillian." His eyes bore into hers. "Do you understand me? You are not to blame for what happened…" James crushed her in another warm hug. "Oh, could you imagine if you had given in? If he would have left you deflowered and alone? And he would have…"

"I _know_…" Lillian cried. "That's the worst part. I know now he would have still left me…and it hurts because it made me realize he never really wanted me." She looked up at him, aching, "I can't tell my parents about this…they would not understand. Jane and Lucy are busy with their own lives. Giselle and Nora are so young still and my cousins are practically all married off now with their own problems…"

"I'm glad you told me." James said, rubbing her hair back from her forehead soothingly. "And I would never expect more from you than you wanted. Because just being near you is enough for me." He glanced at the door. "Now," He said, changing course, "We have to find a way to get you out of here and home without anyone seeing us like this, or everyone will know we were alone together." Lillian's eyes widened.

"I hadn't thought of that." Her eyebrows furrowed together. "I saw a back door on the way up here. We could sneak out through that."

"Perfect." He agreed. "You need to go home and rest."

* * *

Esme was watching Roger where he stood near her father and mother. She had not seen him look so drawn since Nadir had last been ill. She knew that his uncle was sick again, and, at eighty four years old, probably would not live much longer. He stood very solemnly, never smiling, which was entirely unlike Roger Tiernay. He had been acting very strangely lately, and Esme suspected that he was hiding something. She knew him better than anybody else in the world and he was always very easy for her to read.

As if he sensed her eyes on him, Roger looked over at her and gave her a small smile. She beamed back at him, moving forward to go to him, when her foot tangled with some sort of ribbon that had fallen off of another woman's dress and she found herself flying through the air with nothing to grab onto. Someone's arms caught her around the waist and she closed her eyes waiting for her head to collide with the marble floor. Thankfully, she did not fall and was set gently on her feet. When she opened her eyes again, she was staring up into the face of a handsome young man of maybe twenty-three years old, she guessed.

"Mademoiselle, are you all right?" He asked worriedly, scanning over her for bruises. In her peripheral vision, she could see Roger coming toward her along with her father and Uncle Dag.

"Oh, I'm fine." Esme said, smiling up at her savior.

"Paul Levaux." He said, extending his gloved hand.

"Esme Destler." She replied, smiling at him. "Thank you for your assistance. That could have been horribly embarrassing."

"At your service Mademoiselle." He swept into a bow as her father reached her side and gave Paul an assessing glance.

"Esme, what happened?" Erik Destler asked, as Esme produced the stray ribbon that had tripped her.

"Some idiot broke their gown and my ankle got wrapped up in the fallout." She laughed, avoiding Roger's intense gaze. He looked as if he might like to decapitate Paul. "Dad, Roger…this is Paul Levaux. He saved me from hitting my head."

"Sir." Paul said respectfully, shaking her father's hand. Erik eyed him for a moment.

"Levaux…are you Dartagnan's boy?" He asked and Paul nodded, grinning. Esme saw her father's smile tighten, but he remained polite. "Your father was a customer of mine. A good man…he spoke of you often."

"Then you heard of his passing." Paul said, and Erik nodded.

"My wife and I were at the funeral services. Our condolences." Erik began to walk away, though Roger had no intention of leaving Esme noted with a small internal wave of satisfaction. She watched his face carefully as he glared at Paul.

"Monsieur Destler!" Paul called after him as Esme's father hesitated, turning to look back at him.

"Levaux?" He inquired. Paul looked at Esme and then back at her father.

"Sir, may I call on your daughter?"

"What?" Esme asked.

"_What?"_ Roger demanded indignantly, his hazel eyes burning like golden fire at the boy. A small smirk played at her father's lips.

"I'm sorry, Levaux." He said, and Esme thought for a moment that he would deny Paul, the only boy who had ever shown an interest in her. "You'll have to ask her yourself. My Esme is a very spirited girl." Paul turned hopefully to Esme, who looked from him to Roger's savage expression. With a slight air of mischief, she held her hand out to Paul.

"I would like that Monsieur." When she turned her eyes back to Roger, he was gone.


	6. Reality and Fiction

Esme looked up from her reading to see her mother standing in the doorway with a wide smile. Bemused, she bit her lip in anticipation.

"You have a visitor, love." She said and Esme lit up, setting her book aside and standing. "I thought I heard Roger come in with Dad—"

"It's not Roger." Evangeline Destler said quietly with a slight smirk. "It's a young man named Paul Levaux." Esme remembered the young man immediately from the opera gala over the weekend. "I took the liberty of inviting him to stay for dinner with us." Evie added, winking at Esme as she straightened her hair in a nearby mirror and followed her mother out of the room.

He was on the back terrace, chatting idly with Julienne and Claire, who was visiting with her two children and Gustave. A small body collided with Esme a moment later, wrapping his arms around her best he could. A grin came to her face as she caught up the small boy and nuzzled into his soft, blond hair.

"Lucien Georges de Chagny, what are you up to?" She asked her nephew, who giggled, looking behind her at someone.

"See, Erik?" The boy told his older brother triumphantly. "I _told _you I was faster than you!" Esme turned to see Claire's eldest child standing there, looking very like his mother did when she was furious. She set her nephew down, who walked straight to his taller, serious dark haired brother.

"You cheated, Luce!" Little Erik cried angrily. "You can't cut corners!"

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

"_Enough!" _Esme looked over to see Gustave de Chagny standing in the doorway to the terrace looking very much like a father. He had his arms crossed and gave his two children an assessing glance, before smiling apologetically at Esme.

"Sorry Es…the boys are very rowdy these days."

"No problem." She assured him, watching as he sauntered over to the quiet children, who stared up at their father with big, blue eyes.

"You boys know that your mother is going to have a baby soon and you must be very good for her…" Erik looked down in shame, but little Lucien bit his trembling lower lip. "Now, do you think running wild through Grandmere and Grandpere's house is being good?" "No sir." Said serious little Erik. Lucien burst into tears.

"I'm sorry Papa!" Luce cried. Esme swallowed a lump in her throat as she saw Gustave lift the little boy and assure him he was not angry with him. Erik hugged his father as well, before walking past Esme out to where Claire was sitting with a small smile on her face. Gustave carried Lucien and Esme followed him outside.

"Sorry about the interruption." Gustave said, setting Luce to his feet in front of his mother. Claire held out her arms for the boy to climb on her lap. Though he was four, Lucien was a very affectionate and sweet child, if not slightly energetic.

Esme saw Paul sitting cross legged beside her sister and smiled at him, moving to shake his hand. "How nice to see you again, Paul." She said, taking the chair across from him and helping herself to some lemonade.

"Likewise," He replied pleasantly, "You look very nice this afternoon." Esme felt herself blush, ignoring her mother's shared look with Claire.

"I try." She joked nervously, hearing her father and Roger's voices coming from inside. Her eyes widened at the thought of Roger and Paul near each other. The memory of Roger's murderous expression at the opera house came back to her. Swallowing, she braced herself as they stepped outside and Roger smiled at her. A swell of relief flooded her body and she relaxed, grinning back at him. As he moved to greet Claire, he noticed Paul and the smile left his face completely.

"Levaux." Esme's father said, sounding mildly surprised. "You're here."

"I came to visit with Esme." Paul replied nonchalantly. Erik nodded, meeting his daughter's eyes.

"I see." He said, sounding a bit unsure. "Well Evie, it seems we're going to have a full dinner table tonight. Roger is dining with us as well." Esme's mother smiled at Roger. "You know we're always happy to have you with us, Roger." She assured him. Roger looked as though he might be sick to his stomach.

Paul, to his credit, made quite an effort to be charming and it seemed like everyone liked him except for Roger. Esme couldn't be sure about her father, since he was so intimidating naturally. Esme had never seen Roger brooding as he was now. He looked positively surly. It was quite uncomfortable, because as nice as Paul seemed, Roger seemed that much more determined to hate him.

"I really hadn't counted on enjoying the gala last Saturday," Paul was saying, "But then poor Esme tripped and I wasn't bored anymore!"

"How convenient for you." Roger replied sarcastically. Esme glared at him and shook her he ad in warning, horrified at her friend's behavior.

"Roger!" She hissed warningly. His hazel eyes met hers and she had to look away because they were charged with something that she was not ready to acknowledge. Luckily, Paul was oblivious and went right on with his happy story.

Dinner was not much better. As the food was served, Paul pulled out Esme's chair for her, but before he could sit in the chair beside her, Roger slid into it. If Paul was irritated by this, he did not show it and walked around the table to sit directly across from Esme. She flushed in embarrassment, livid with Roger, who was acting abominably. Julienne, on her right, even made a comment.

"What has gotten _into_ him?" She whispered and Esme shrugged helplessly. Any time that Paul spoke, Roger glared icily at him. Esme looked to her father for help, but he seemed almost…amused…by Roger's reaction.

"You had better have a good reason for acting this way, Roger Thomas Tiernay, or I will have your head." She murmured through gritted teeth, keeping a smile on her face. Esme looked sideways at him, noticing a muscle in his jaw was ticking.

"I don't like the way he looks at you." Roger replied moodily, spearing a piece of asparagus with his fork. Esme rolled her eyes.

"That's just too bad for you, Roger," Esme answered smoothly, "Because I don't recall you ever staking a claim for me." With that, she turned back to Paul and gave him her widest, most flirtatious smile, making sure to laugh at his story.

"I was hoping to get a moment to speak with you." Paul said after dinner, when the family had begun to retire to the parlor. She let him take her hands, but felt slightly wrong when he did.

"Oh?" She asked coyly, hoping that she didn't seem like she was acting oddly. "I…would you fancy a walk with me?" He asked. Swallowing, she nodded.

"Of course, I should just tell my—"

"Oh wonderful!" A voice said nearby. "I'd love some air too!" Esme looked skyward as she turned to face Roger, who had been chatting with Julienne. A look of apology was on Jules's face. "Julienne would like to come as well, wouldn't you Jules?"

"Uh…I…that is-er—" Julienne stammered, looking at Esme for help.

"It's settled." Roger said with a false smile, offering Julienne his arm. "Shall we?" Reluctantly, Esme followed them on Paul's arm. She gave him a penitent shrug.

"I'm sorry, Paul. This is so unlike him." Esme said quietly. Paul smiled at her and shook his head.

"He is obviously in love with you." He said with half a smile. "I can barely find it in me to be upset. I would be the same if it were a girl I loved."

"It's not like that with us." Esme assured him. Paul gave her a pitying look.

"Isn't it? I've been around the pair of you for half a day and I see it. I also see the way you look at him." Esme's eyes widened in denial.

"I've known him since I was born! He's like an older brother to me!" She insisted, making sure to keep her voice low enough so that Roger could not hear her. Thankfully, Julienne was talking his ear up, to give she and Paul privacy she was sure.

"I don't think he thinks of you like a sister." Paul laughed. Staring at the back of Roger's dark head, Esme felt something inside of her shifting and she was certain it had nothing to do with the dinner she had just consumed. It felt like thousands of invisible little butterflies were flying around her heart as a warm, apprehensive feeling surrounded her, making her skin tingle. When Roger turned to reply to Julienne and she saw his profile, she lost her breath.

"Esme?" Paul asked, stopping when she gasped. Her sister and Roger halted as well, turning to look expectantly at her. She had gone pale, she suspected and could not bring herself to look at Roger, for fear he would know what she was thinking.

"St-Stu bbed my toe." She lied, seeing her sisters look of skepticism. Paul sighed heavily.

"I think I should go." He said regretfully. Weakly, Esme nodded and let him guide her back to the house, feeling the heat of Roger's eyes on her. She bid Paul goodnight and waited until his carriage had rounded the corner before she turned on Roger and began slapping him on the arms.

"How…_dare_…you act that way!" She cried in a rage. "He might have been my only chance for a suitor this season and you go and do that!" A great shriek of frustration left her as she had to suppress the urge to launch herself into his arms and press her lips to his throat. "What do you have to say for yourself?" She demanded, glad no one was in front of the house. His eyes remained dark.

"Nothing." He replied softly. "I don't know what came over me tonight." Esme's eyes narrowed as she moved forward, lowering her voice and staring straight into his eyes. "Roger, do you have feelings for me?" She asked in wonder, remembering Paul's words. She watched his eyes widen and he hesitated a moment too long before answering.

"Of course not." He laughed, sounding entirely like someone else. "Don't be ridiculous, I don't—"

"You're _lying_!" Esme cried in shock. "You never lie!" A look of desperation came into his eyes as he grabbed her by the shoulders and bent to her eye level.

"Esme, I do not have feelings for you." Roger said firmly, making her wince, but she moved closer until they were nearly nose to nose. Her eyes were aflame.

"Prove it." She challenged and before he could protest, she took his face into her small hands and pulled his lips to her, trying to remember everything her sisters had told her about kissing. It felt nice, the soft touch of his lips on hers and she kissed him chastely over and over again.

A small sound like a groan came from him as his hand moved behind her head, gently cradling her there as he parted her lips with his tongue. Her eyes widened in surprise as he tenderly found her tongue and began to caress it with his. A new feeling that she had never experienced before gripped her, sending jolts of pleasure up and down her body as she struggled to press herself even closer to him.

"Esme…" She heard him whisper before he pulled away completely, staring down at her in a mixture of arousal and alarm. "Oh God…" He said, backing away and letting go of her.

"It's all right…" She said soothingly, but he shook his head.

"No. No it bloody well is _not_ alright." Roger replied, looking at her with pain in his eyes. "I have to go. I'm sorry, Esme. That was inappropriate." She watched as he turned and headed for the stables, where his horse was waiting for him. Confusion filled her as she turned lost, back toward the house.

* * *

Simon stepped through the familiar doors to his parents' house and grinned to himself at the smell of cinnamon rolls coming from the kitchen at the back of the house. It was a comforting aroma that he remembered from his childhood, when his mother would cook them on Saturday mornings. Simon's mother came from a modest background. She had been the daughter of two ballet dancers and had been raised to be a dancer herself, going on to become a prima ballerina. She'd always known how to cook and clean, and though his parents were wealthy, his mother enjoyed cooking very much.

Walking into the kitchen, a scene from his childhood greeted him. His mother was standing behind the counter with bits of flour on her cheeks and her golden hair bound loosely on top of her head. His father was standing beside her "helping" as he stole tastes of icing and batter while Mother slapped his hand away affectionately.

They both looked up when he came into the room, surprised.

"Simon!" Meg Reynolds cried excitedly, moving around the counter to kiss her son's cheek. "What are you doing here, sweetheart?" Simon sighed, sitting at the small table in the kitchen and toying with a salt shaker.

"I was just…homesick, I guess." He replied, crossing his legs.

"Thirty years old and still needs his mother." Meg laughed. "Let me just go wash up." She leaned up to kiss his father quickly on the lips before leaving the room. Simon watched his father look fondly after her as she left and swallowed before gathering his courage.

"Pa, when did you realize Mother was the one?" He asked his father. Brett Reynolds frowned, moving through the kitchen to sit across from his son. It was like looking into a mirror of what he would look like at his father's age. Both of his parents had blond hair and blue eyes, so naturally, all three of the Reynolds children had followed suit, except for Anna, who had inherited a bit of their grandmother's red hair. Her hair had come out a golden copper color.

"What made you think of that?" His father asked curiously. Simon shrugged and looked at the table. "Have you met someone, Simon?"

"No." Simon answered quickly. Defeated, he sighed. "Sort of. She's not really my type. In fact, she isn't really _any_one's type." He chuckled. "She's a spinster." His father's eyebrows raised in surprise, but he didn't say anything.

"How old is this spinster?"

"Twenty-five." He replied, feeling like an idiot. His father shook his head in obvious disgust.

"Five years younger than you and considered unmarriageable." Brett sighed. "I suppose I should advise you to leave her be, but I'm not going to."

"She's not interested in marriage either, Pa." Simon told him. "And neither am I." His father gave him an impatient look.

"You aren't getting any younger." Brett said. "It's always been hard for you to get close with people. Ever since Rosie--"

"Dad, _don't_." Simon pleaded with his father, not wanting to bring up the painful subject he had pushed away for so long.

"Simon, it was so long ago…you were six years old." His father said, a sad look coming into his eyes. Simon shook his head, closing his eyes tightly so that he wouldn't remember. "Back to your question," Brett said, changing the subject. "I knew your mother was the one the first time I ever spoke to her. She was at Raoul and Christine's wedding. I spotted her standing near your Aunt Christine and before I knew it, I was stammering like a fool in front of her. Of course, didn't see each other again for a time and we ran into each other three years later in London, where she was training some ballerinas for the London Opera. She had been made prima ballerina at the Opera Populaire by this time. I was much more articulate this time and she agreed to have dinner with me. I proposed to her a month later and we were married six months following that. A year and a half later you were born."

"And you just…knew?" Simon asked incredulously. His father nodded.

"Sometimes things just click. Everything happens for a reason, Simon. We were meant to see each other in London, you mother and I." Brett said quietly as Simon heard the voices of his mother and Anna coming closer.

"Pa, don't tell Mother I was asking about this. I don't want to get her hopes up. It's just a stupid infatuation…" Simon pleaded with his father, who nodded.

"It's our secret. But Simon, I really think if you talked about Rose--"

"Pa, no." Simon said as his mother and sister appeared. "_No._" He insisted again. Brett nodded with a sigh. Anna sank into the chair beside her brother while their mother walked to the oven to peek in on the cinnamon rolls.

"Almost done!" She announced. Simon smiled, despite himself and walked over to her, kissing her rosy cheek. "What was that for, Simon?"

"Nothing Mother…I just wanted to thank you for being so wonderful." He saw the motherly tears fill her bright blue eyes as she pulled him in for a hug.

"Oh, you are a good boy." She said affectionately. Simon saw Anna roll her eyes, unable to hold back a laugh.

"Oh Mother, you are such a sucker." She replied as their father chuckled.

* * *

Roger stared into the amber colored liquid in his glass miserably. He sat at the bar of a local tavern, trying to drink himself into an oblivion to forget everything that had happened that night. It had been bad enough seeing that Esme was being courted in earnest by another man, which was disturbing in itself as Roger had always considered himself nothing more than her protector. Even worse, was the way he'd found himself reacting to the perfectly harmless behavior of the young man who had an interest in Esme. It was unlike him, and he'd never intended for the two of them to have a romantic relationship. He was nine bloody years older than her!

When had she grown into such an attractive woman? Her curls, the color of sunrise, seemed even more vibrant lately and her skin was smooth as alabaster, but for a few light freckles across the bridge of her sweet slip of a nose. Her dark pink lips were lush and full as he'd always fancied in a woman and even more surprising was the abundance of her bosom. When had the adorable imp he'd comforted just three years before disappeared and this other worldly creature take her place?

If someone had told Roger three years ago that he would dream of Esme Destler without clothes on, he would have let them have it. But it was all he could think about as he sat desolately at that bar. Four drinks later, it had only become worse. Now, the image of her lying on a bed of rose petals in only a pair of white silk stockings with her arms spread and her eyes heavy lidded with lust wad the only thing he could think of. It tormented him and he wanted to claw his own eyes out before thinking that way of little Esme Marie.

Roger was ashamed of his behavior with her earlier. He had taken advantage of her innocence by kissing her in front of her parents' own home. An idiotic jealous rage had filled him and Esme was not fooled by his indifference. What frightened Roger the most, however, were the fortune teller's words from so long before.

"_Young man, one day you will love a girl with hair like the rising sun." _

He'd never seen another girl whose hair reminded him of sunrise…and it was frightening him how it had come true. He'd always loved Esme as he'd loved all of her sisters, but the feelings he'd felt for her lately were something far more intense than brotherly love. He wanted to see his ring on her finger. He wanted to her belly full with his child…the first thing he wanted to see in the morning was her face and the blue of her eyes…

"Monsieur," He called weakly to the bartender. "Another whiskey please…"

* * *

Lillian smiled to herself as she was reading through old notes of hers from years before. There were notes from her cousins…from her friends…from burned her eyes as she tossed them into the fireplace and watched them burn into nothing but ash before her eyes.

Just like her relationship with Mercer.

It wasn't fair. She had invested so much into loving Merce, that she didn't remember how to love anyone else. It had been so long since she'd fantasized about someone other than her fiancé, that she was sure it was impossible. She'd given her heart to him and he'd destroyed it, leaving her with an empty shell.

_Dear Lillian, _

_I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written. I've been very busy. My employer asked me to keep an eye on his daughter Adriana. She is new in town and he told me if I show her around that I will get a handsome raise. Very soon we will be married, love…_

She crumpled it and threw it into the licking flames, glad to see it burn.

_Lillian-_

_Christophe tells me I'll make partner if I--_

Burned.

_Lillian-_

_I forgive you for what happened over Christmas--_

Letting out a cry of distress, she hurled that one into the flames turning away from the hurtful words that would soon no longer exist. Picking up another, folded note, she opened it.

_Dear Lily, _

_I have written this letter so many times, but nothing I write seems to be good enough, so I am just going to say it. I think you are the smartest, toughest, most fun person to be around…besides Simon. I also wanted to tell you that I think you're pretty. I never told you that, but you are…you're probably the prettiest girl I know. Also, if you're ever lonely, I carved our initials in the tree between the two cedar trees. _

_I just thought you should know before I go to college._

_James._

Lillian had forgotten about Mercer for the moment as she stared at the long forgotten letter of her past. She'd spent many an afternoon tracing their initials on that tree before she'd met Mercer. Their final afternoon together before he'd left for university came back to her.

"_I'm not speaking to you." Lillian said, turning away from James and staring off into the woods. He frowned, sitting beside her. She pulled the letter he'd written from her pinafore pocket and glared at him. "You write me this letter just when you're going to leave for four years and you expect me not to be angry?" Her brown eyes filled with tears. _

"_Are you going to wait for me, Lily?" He asked, taking her hand. She shook her head, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling. _

"_I'll never forgive you for leaving…you're not going to remember some stupid fourteen year old girl from home when you are around all those worldly women in England." She sniffed and let him draw her into a warm embrace. Gently, he took the ribbons holding her braids out and let her dark hair unwind so that it hung long._

"_I'll always remember you, Lily. You're my best friend." He replied, threading his fingers through hers. She rolled her eyes. _

"_Simon is your best friend, James." She reminded him. James nodded. _

"_It's different with him, though." He insisted. "I can't tell him about things I can tell you about. Like feelings…Simon only likes to talk about sports and girls." James rolled his eyes. _

"_I don't want you to go." Lillian admitted, clinging to his hand. A moment later, he pressed his lips quickly to hers, holding them soundly there for a few moments. Drawing back, his blue eyes widened as the two of them settled back onto their blanket apart and stared up at the clouds silently. _


	7. The Daroga

"Where are you taking me?" James laughed, allowing Lillian to guide him as he walked with his eyes closed at her demand. Lily caught him when he dared to peek and she let out a sigh of exasperation.

"You'll see in just a moment James, and if I see you open your eyes one more time, I'll close them for you permanently."

"Is that a promise?" He teased, squeezing her hand. Ignoring this, she stopped, letting go of his hand to take him by the shoulders and place him where she wanted him.

"Open your eyes."

When he did as she told him to, he realized he was looking at a worn old tree trunk with two sets of faded initials.

_LH + JW. _

They weren't carved romantically with any hearts or nonsense like that, he had simply dug his pocket knife into the wood and carved four letters into the trunk of the old tree. Yet, they said everything that needed to be said and expressed every feeling he'd ever had for Lily then and now.

"I can't believe you remembered this, Lily." He replied looking down at her blushing face. "Twelve years…" Putting his arm around her, a small thrill of triumph tickled his insides as she reciprocated, wrapped her slim arm around his waist. A small sigh of contentment left her.

"I found this last night." She added, pulling a folded, worn piece of paper from her pocket. James cringed when she read it aloud and he recognized the words he'd written to her over a decade before.

"I still think you're pretty, Lillian." He told her, smiling slightly as he brushed some of her windblown dark locks out of her eyes.

"Even without my braids and pinafore?" She giggled, toying with the buttons on his vest. James had opted not to wear a coat this afternoon as it was unseasonably warm.

"You know…" Lillian said weakly, "Somehow, I was always comparing Merce to you…especially toward the end. Any time he would say something that hurt me, I would try to imagine how you would have reacted, if you were there. I loved him, James, I really did, and we had some lovely times together…but looking back, I cannot for the life of me recall a good time to tell you about." James darkened.

"If you would have told me about the Christmas incident while you two had still be engaged, I would have beaten the _piss_ out of him." He let out a sigh that conveyed years of frustration. "When I found out you were engaged, I gave up. I went on a spree of debauchery that would rival Simon…and that's saying something." A bitter laugh left him at her look of horror. "It was never about the women." He assured Lillian. "It was about you...it made me sick. So I stopped caring and went on a skirt chasing frenzy, but I was never satisfied. Never. Because I could only think about _you_."

"And you still want me now?" She asked incredulously, "Even after I was with Mercer and tortured you for five years? You want me the way you did then?"

"More so…" James murmured, taking her flushed face into his hands and leaning down toward her. To his exhilaration, he saw her head moved upward and her eyes fall closed. He had just barely touched her lips with his when—

"Lillian!" Both of them drew apart so quickly that Lillian almost fell over. James easily caught her as her youngest sibling, twelve year old Thomas bounded into view, looking frantic.

"Thomas?" She inquired worriedly. "What is it?"

"It's Monsieur Khan. The Daroga…" He gasped. "He's taken a turn for the worst. Maman and Papa have gone with Uncle Erik and Aunt Evie to his house."

"Roger…" Lillian said, meeting James's eyes. He nodded, understanding. Taking Thomas's arm, she led them all back toward the house. The twins were waiting for them on the veranda. Giselle looked lost and Nora simply looked frightened.

"What should we do?" Nora asked in a hushed voice. Lillian crossed her arms in a very businesslike manner.

"I propose that we all go over to Aunt Evie's and Uncle Erik's house to see that the girls are all right. I'm sure they could use the company."

"Papa said that Esme was with them. She insisted on going." Giselle told Lillian. James's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.

"Go get your things girls, Thomas…get Marcus. Tell him to ready the carriage." She instructed. The boy nodded, sprinting away to find his seventeen year old brother. Her eyes turned back to James when they were alone.

"I'm coming with you." James said, not keen on the idea of Lillian taking all of them alone. Her eyes were filled with gratitude as she nodded at him and reached for her reticule.

The Destler house was mad. Charles and Emmy had arrived with their brood of three children. Poor Emmy could barely walk as she was so pregnant. Charles had propped her on a sofa with her feet up as he looked after the children. They were told on arrival that Claire and Gustave were on their way to wait for news as well with their boys. Bella and Tris were still visiting Paris with their two children as well. Madeleine Stratton and her husband Adam were the only members not present as they were vacationing in Le Havre. Julienne was reading to Charles's son Knox.

The twins gathered around Emmy to talk with her while the boys sat down and were immediately surrounded by children. Lillian gestured for James to follow her to sit near Bella, Tris and Julienne.

"How bad is it?" Lillian asked and Bella shook her head with a sigh.

"It doesn't look good, dear. Dad said Roger had told him Nadir was incoherent." Bella looked sadly at her husband, who was soothingly rubbing the nape of her neck. A look of mild surprise came to her face as she realized James was with them. "James." She said, reaching to take his hand. "Are the two of you on speaking terms again?" James watched as Lillian blushed.

"I was visiting and didn't like the idea of Lillian having to cart everyone around on her own." He explained, leaving out most of it. Bella seemed to find it amusing.

"Well I'm glad. You two had been such good friends before and I didn't like you fighting all the time." She smiled at Lillian and looked past the two of them. "Nessa Rose Coolidge, you had better slow down or one of you is going to get hurt!" She told her daughter gently. Tris sighed and stood after kissing Bella's cheek.

"I'll get her, love." He said, but he was a moment too late, for as Nessa lost grip of Eden's hand, Eden went flying backwards. Swiftly, James moved and caught the dark haired little girl before she hit anything. She began to cry out of fear more than anything and James waited patiently as she clutched his shirt. The sounds of her little sniffle and whimper pulled at his heart strings. Charles was at his side in a moment, taking his daughter and rocking her gently while softly scolding her for not behaving.

"But I was b-bored, Papa…" She said, looking up at her father with wide blue eyes. "Do you still love me?"

"Eden Lanie Destler, I will always love you…but you must try to remember that Maman is very close to having your new brother or sister." He told her. "Promise?" Eden nodded, and Charles set her down, good as new. He turned to James.

"Thanks." He said, running a hand through his hair. "I am exhausted running after these three…" Charles told him. "With Emmy so close to her time, she can't be on her feet, so I've been taking the brunt of it for her…I love those children, but they drive me mad."

"That's why I stopped at two." Tris quipped, sitting back down with his four year old daughter and handing her to Bella. Bella gave him a small smile before kissing Nessa's rosy little cheek. James couldn't suppress the thought that he might like to have a little girl to spoil one day…one who looked like her mother with dark hair and warm, brown eyes. He grinned, picturing Lillian pregnant like Emmy while their rambunctious older children drove them both crazy. When he turned to look at her, she was staring at him as though she had never seen him before. He grinned rakishly at her and she rolled her eyes, but smiled despite herself.

* * *

The day had started like any other. Roger had gotten up, taken coffee and a cake before going off to the office. He'd had a successful meeting with a new client, taken lunch and had gone home early, happy with the progress of his day. Walking up the stairs, he had decided to tell Uncle Nadir what had happened and had opened the sickroom door to an awful sight. His uncle was white as a sheet and was wheezing and gasping for air. Panicking, Roger telephoned the Destler house after sending for a Doctor, and had told Erik what was happening. He'd assured him that he would be along quickly.

When the doctor arrived, Roger showed him to Nadir's room, and the pitying look in the older man's eyes informed Roger that Nadir was not going to make it out of this.

"All I can do is give him medicine to slow his breathing and make him more comfortable." The man looked regretful. "I'm sorry…" Roger took another look at his uncle, writhing in pain and agony and nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Do what you must." He said, hearing his voice crack. He watched as the doctor administered a milky fluid in a syringe and injected it gently into his uncle's thin arm. A few moments later, Nadir stopped flailing and relaxed, soothing Roger's nerves a bit. The doctor returned with a kind look in his eyes.

"He should go in peace now." He assured Roger. "I will stay until he does and help you prepare him. It could be minutes or it could be hours." Roger nodded as the man looked back. "You should try to get him to take some warm tea." Weakly, Roger nodded again, saying nothing. He sent for the housekeeper to bring him some mint tea and carefully sat Nadir up. He was dead weight as he was half unconscious, but his eyes were opened.

"Won't let them take you…" He mumbled to Roger, who nodded, humoring him as he struggled to get the warm liquid into his uncle's mouth. He ended up spilling it all over the bed.

"Let me." A voice came from the doorway. Erik Destler stood there, aged but healthy as ever and took the newly empty cup from Roger's trembling hands. "Go rest for a minute. It's going to be harder if you don't." Relinquishing his hold on Nadir, Roger stood and let Erik pat him on the shoulder before rushing across the hallway into his own bedroom. The moment the door closed behind him, he sank to the floor beside his bed and began to weep. His sobs were so heavy that he had to bury his face in the side of the mattress to muffle them so that no one could hear. Vaguely through the pounding in his head, he heard the door open and saw the bottom of a lady's skirt as he glanced back.

He reasoned it must be Madame Destler coming in to check on him as she always did. When she moved forward and sank to the floor beside him, pulling him into a warm, tender embrace, he realized that she was too slim and young to be Evangeline.

When he opened his eyes to look at her, the blue eyes that were identical to Evangeline Destler's were not the same ones. The skin around the eyes was perfect and unaffected by time. He realized that it was Esme who was holding him, and though he knew he should let go of her, he only held her tighter as she allowed him to sob into her shoulder. Her small hands raked comfortingly through his long, dark hair. As his grief subsided momentarily, he pulled away and wiped his eyes.

"You shouldn't have seen that." He apologized. Frowning, she gave him her handkerchief, which smelled of the same scent that she naturally carried…flowers and sunlight.

"Hush." She told him, taking his hand and sitting against the bed beside him. "You've seen me worse than that." Esme reminded him. He smiled, remembering times he'd comforted her over the years.

"I never told you this Esme," Roger heard himself tell her, "When I was seven, a fortune teller saw you in my future. She said, 'One day you will love a girl with hair like the rising sun.'" Esme laughed.

"She did _not_…you're teasing!" She said. Roger shook his head seriously, looking at their clasped hands.

"I remember the first time I ever saw you when you were just a newborn baby." He said, "Uncle Nadir brought me to play with Bella and Claire and they had you all dressed in a frilly little baby dress. But the thing that drew me to you was your hair. It is the exact color of the sunrise…" Roger touched the pendant around her neck and met her blue eyes. "That's what this pendant stands for Esme Marie."

"Does that mean you love me?" She teased. Roger gave her a weary look.

"Esme…" He pleaded with her, not ready to confront what had happened between them the other night.

"I've always felt close to you too, Roger." Esme said, changing course again. "Something always pulled us together…and I believe that fortune teller."

The door creaked open and Erik walked into the room, raising an eyebrow at his daughter before turning grimly to Roger.

"He's asleep." Erik said, looking devastated. Roger thought of the stories Uncle Nadir had told him about Erik and their adventures together long ago. When Nadir's son Reza had been dying, he'd taken the pain away so the boy could die…

The two shared a bond that Roger had never experienced with a friend. For Erik to lose Nadir was like killing a part of Erik himself. The same went for Roger's uncle. It was why the Daroga had always protected Erik.

Esme rose to her feet and held out her hand to Roger. Hesitantly, he took it and got up as well, allowing her to lead him out of the room. She stayed beside him as he opened the door to Nadir's sickroom. His uncle looked dead already, chalky and thin, unlike Roger had ever seen him. He'd always thought of his uncle as a strong, healthy person and to see him this way…it made Roger feel very helpless.

Roger let go of Esme's hand and moved to sit in the little wooden chair Erik had set up beside the bed. He took Nadir's cold, weak hand into his own and pressed his fingers to the feeble pulse at his wrist. Erik sat on the other side of the bed with his head bent in what looked like some sort of prayer. Esme and her mother stood huddled together in the corner of the room, talking quietly with each other. The doctor had gone, as there was nothing further he could do. The bright gold of the dying sunlight streamed into the room, saturating everything with a gleaming light. Eerily, it was as if Heaven was waiting for Nadir.

An hour later, the sun was disappearing beneath the horizon. Esme had curled in a chair and had fallen asleep. Her mother had gone downstairs to cook some dinner for everyone. Erik had gone with his wife, unable to sit still and watch his friend fall further into oblivion. Only Roger had remained in the same spot, still holding Nadir's hand in his, waiting to say his goodbyes.

As the sun's last light became coppery colored, Roger heard Nadir whisper his name. When he looked again, his uncle's eyes were open, though watery and unfocused.

"Uncle?" He said, trying to keep his voice even.

"Look at that." Nadir said, pointing weakly at Esme's sleeping form.

"Esme?" Roger asked, following his hand. Nadir nodded.

"That hair…she's even more beautiful that I could have dreamed for you."

"But Uncle, she's not--"

"It was always her." Nadir said with a sad smile. "You know it was…" Roger's eyes filled with hot, unforgiving tears as his face crumbled.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye, Uncle." He whispered, trembling. Nadir held his hand as firmly as he could.

"Can you believe these old hands once could break a man's neck?" Nadir laughed, coughing. "It's all part of the cycle, Roger." He went on, "We are born. We live…we die. We lose people we love when we live and we leave people we love when we die. There is no winning…but I will soon be with my darling wife…and Reza. I've missed them. And Leila…"

"My mother." Roger nodded. Nadir's eyes glazed momentarily as he coughed roughly. Composing himself again, he spoke again.

"And Roger." Nadir gave him a weak, small smile. "Your father."

"Were you close with him?" Roger asked, wondering if Nadir was finally going to give Roger some insight on his past.

"Roger was a good person." Nadir said quietly. "He was simply a boy who fell in love with the wrong girl. Roger came from a very wealthy family who were trying to map his every move for the rest of his life, so he ran. He came to Persia and met Leila. The two married so quickly, before anyone had a chance to protest. Of course, our parents were completely against the union, and disowned her. I had already been married to Rookheya and lost her and Reza both when little Leila eloped. So I helped them. I gave them soe money I had saved for Reza's schooling." Roger saw Nadir hesitate, looking away. "Your mother was pregnant, she found out. Roger had sold one of his paintings to a very wealthy buyer and everything had seemed to be looking up for the two of them."

"What happened?" Roger forced himself to ask.

"Your father's family found him. They went after Leila and much is unclear to me about what happened next. All I know is that more than one person had a gun and Roger ended up with a bullet in his belly. Leila fled and came to me. I took her in and never regretted it since. She died a few hours after your birth." Nadir's voice grew thicker. "She held you the entire time before she died, though. She loved you…I'm sorry for not telling you, son."

Roger realized, staring at the closest thing to a father he would ever know, that it didn't matter anymore.

"I don't care anymore." Roger told him. "Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for not throwing me out on the streets, for--" He had to stop for he was crying again, and holding Nadir's hand tightly. Vaguely, Roger heard the door open and three people enter the room. He saw Erik move to his side, looking down at Nadir with the oddest expression that Roger had ever seen on his face. To his surprise, Erik removed his mask, holding it against his heart.

"Daroga." He said. It was all he said, but he did not have to say more. Nadir seemed to know everything that Erik was trying to say. Nadir nodded.

"Roger…" He said to Erik, indicating toward his nephew.

"Will always be part of my family." Erik assured him. Nadir turned his eyes to Roger, as they had closed to small slits.

"Roger…you are my son. So proud…"

Roger sniffed audibly, unable to stop his body from shaking so terribly. Nadir smiled and shut his eyes, letting out a long breath before he stilled completely, grinning even in death.

Out of the corner of his eye, Roger saw Erik replace his mask and turn to his wife to weep. Roger could only stare at the vacant body of his once strong uncle. Monsieur Holden and his wife stood sadly at the back, while Esme had made her way somehow to Roger's right side and had buried her face into Roger's side. Numbly, his arm found its way around her tiny body as he let his nose nuzzle into the flowery scent of her wild copper hair.

* * *

Julienne stood smashed between her sister Claire and her mother at the Daroga's funeral. Little Lucien leaned back against Julienne's skirt, sucking his thumb as he still tended to do. Julienne let her fingers run through his fine, gold hair. Her father stood beside Roger, looking as solemn as she had ever seen him. It pained her to know that his dearest friends in the world were now both deceased. Madame Giry had given out a few years before, suddenly, taking him by surprised. It had shocked everyone as she had been healthy and happy. She'd died in her sleep of natural causes at the age of seventy-three.

Julienne could not bear to watch as the coffin was lowered into the empty grave. It was too horrible. Too final. So she looked to the side at other covered graves with flowers placed on them. A slight shock sent her into a thrill of surprise as she recognized the back of a blond male head crouched over a small gravestone. He stood after placing a flower there and just stared down at the grave for a long while. Astonishment filled her heart as he kissed his finger and touched the top of the smooth stone. From this far away, Julienne could not make out what it said, but a strong curiosity filled her as she watched him turn to look her way. Panicking, she felt her face heat as he met her eyes. He gave her a solemn nod, tipping his hat slightly before leaving quickly.

Julienne waited patiently as the funeral ended before she decided to sneak away to see for herself who Simon was visiting. She knew it was not Madame Giry, his grandmother's grave, because Antoinette Giry was buried beside her late husband Philippe. It was easy to find the little grave because of the little yellow flower lying over it. Julienne's heart lurched as she read the stone.

_Rose Elizabeth Reynolds_

_June 12, 1878 - August 31, 1882 _

_Beloved Daughter and Sister_

Looking around, she saw that Simon had gone and her parents were calling to her. With one last look at the little girl's grave, she took the flower she was holding and set it beside Simon's before running back to her family.

* * *

** It's about to get REALLY intense...so be prepared!!!!!!!! Some CRAZY stuff coming up!**


	8. Babies

"Lily, we're off to Jane's for lunch. Are you sure you won't join us?" Lillian's mother asked, stepping into the study, where Lillian had her head bent over the latest issue of _Evanna's Secret. _

"No, Maman." Lillian replied, meeting her mother's eyes. "I think I'll visit Emmy today. She's practically going mad with boredom in this last leg of her pregnancy."

"I'll bet. She's much bigger than she was with the other children." Fern observed. "I think it would be very nice for you to go see her."

"After I finish this chapter." Lillian reminded her mother. Fern smiled conspiratorially.

"I read it when it came this morning. Wait until the last bit of the chapter…Evanna feels the baby move." She told her daughter.

"Don't spoil it!" Lillian cried with a grin as her mother gave her a shrug and left the room. Turning back to the story, she read on.

_Evanna stirred the pot of stew, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. Seeing Jack again with his wife in the home of Lord Davenport had been almost too hard for her to bear. She stared intently into the pot, hoping none of the other kitchen staff noticed her tears. A voice in the doorway startled her as the two other maids in the kitchen scurried off. _

"_Evanna." _

_Her eyes widened at the sound of Jack's voice. Wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand, she turned to face the man who had crushed her heart. Jack looked at her oddly, noticing that her waist was no longer as slim as it had been when he'd last held her. Self consciously, she hugged her arms around herself. _

"_What do you need, Monsieur Teegan?" She asked professionally, backing up against the wall. _

"_Why are you moving away, Evanna? Don't you miss me?" _

"_That is in the past, Jack." Evanna replied, turning back to the stew. _

"_Why didn't you tell me about the baby, Vannie?" He asked, indicating the slight curve of her middle. She frowned at him. _

"_Maybe it isn't yours. After all, I'm only a whore. Isn't that what you told everyone?" She fired at him. His eyes widened in surprise. _

"_I did what I had to do." Jack replied with a grim voice. _

"_Leave me alone." She pleaded, blinking rapidly against the rush of tears in her eyes and the wave of nausea that enveloped her. _

"_Don't you love me still, Vannie?" He asked, beckoningly. _

"_Teegan, your wife was asking for you. I suggest you join her. She is a bit tipsy." Lord Davenport said, coming into the room. He swept an analyzing glance over Evanna, who had crumpled against the stove and was trying to breathe normally. Jack gave Evanna one last look before glaring at the Duke and leaving the room. _

"_Thank you." Evanna whispered, looking up at Lord Davenport. "I'm sorry about that, I--"_

"_It was him, wasn't it?" Davenport asked, moving closer and taking the wooden spoon from her. He moved the pot of stew to the hot pad and put a lid on it. Evanna nodded, touching her slightly swollen belly. _

"_He told me he wasn't married. He said he was going to marry me. I can't believe I gave myself to him, I'm…I'm so stupid." _

"_You aren't stupid, Evanna." Davenport said, putting his hands on her shoulders. He frowned when he felt how she was trembling. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped it around her small shoulders and sighed. "I'm sorry you had to relive it. It won't happen again." _

"_I'm only a servant, Lord Davenport." Evanna replied. "Who you invite to your home is your own business." _

"_It's your home too, and I like to think you should be comfortable here." His dark eyes were kind. "Good Lord, you're shaking." _

_To Evanna's surprise, the Duke pulled her against the warmth of his chest and she hesitantly rested her cheek against him. A small twitch broke the moment, however and when she looked up, he was staring down at her with an expression akin to alarm. _

"_I think my baby just moved." She murmured and, without thinking, pulled his hand to rest where she'd felt the movement. He waited patiently with her and when the second twitch came, the smile on his face was undeniable as he met her eyes. _

With a long sigh, Lillian set the paper aside and got up from the desk to head over to Charles and Emmy's home.

When she arrived there, however, she was greeted by the sound of chaos. Apparently, only a few minutes before, Emmy's water had broke. Charles was pacing the foyer with the children in tow. He looked up when she walked in and relaxed visibly.

"Oh thank goodness." Presently, Knox was thrust into her arms. "Lillian, can you stay with the children until Claire arrives to take them?" Charles asked desperately. Lily nodded, almost amused with her cousin's expression as he turned quickly to the two little girls. "Eden. Ava. Listen to Lillian. I'm going to go upstairs with Maman."

"Is the baby coming, Papa?" Eden asked, tilting her dark head. Charles nodded, patting her head.

"Be good, girls. You too, Knox." He added, sprinting toward the staircase like a first time father rather than a soon to be father of four. Lillian brought the children into their playroom and sat on the floor with them.

"Lillian, do you think Maman is having a boy or a girl?" Eden asked, hugging her rag doll.

"I don't know, sweetheart." Lillian told the dark haired little angel. "What do you think, Ava?"

"I don't know." The smart seven year old said. "But I think Papa wants a boy. All men want boys."

"Who told you that?" Lily asked, suppressing a grin.

"Aunt Claire." Ava said and Lillian was not surprised. Claire was one of the most opinionated she knew and Lily loved her cousin for it.

"I'm a boy." Knox said, looking up at Lillian with big, silvery green eyes.

"Yes, and a very handsome one at that." She told him, kissing his chubby baby cheek. He giggled. Outside the door, Lillian could hear the rustling of skirts as Claire appeared with her two boys at her sides and an apologetic look on her face. Gustave was behind her and he smiled down at the four of them.

"Afternoon, Lil. How are you?"

"Wonderful, Gustave. Just paying Emmy a visit only to become the nanny." She laughed. Gustave stooped to Knox's level.

"What do you say that you, me, Luce and Erik all go outside and play?" He asked the three year old boy. Lucien nodded excited.

"Oh, Papa! Could we play hide and seek?" He asked. Gustave looked at Claire, who shook her head in disapproval.

"We'll see." Gustave replied, ushering the three boys out of the room. Eden moved to sit in Lillian's lap.

"Are you a princess, Lillian?" Eden asked. Ava gave her sister a look of exasperation.

"Eden, of _course_ she's not! She doesn't have a crown."

"But maybe she's in disguise." Eden replied insistently. "She looks like Snow White." Claire grinned, pulling Ava to sit in front of her so that she could put the child's dark, unruly locks into two braids.

"No one has ever been more prepared for a girl than I have and I had two boys." Claire laughed, brushing Ava's hair gently.

"You aren't done yet." Lillian pointed out, noting her cousin's unborn child. Claire grinned.

"I know…and I'll love him or her no matter what, but does it make me so terrible to want it to be a her?" Claire asked, kissing Ava's temple and reaching next for Eden.

"Do I have to have braids?" Eden asked, looking back at Lillian. With a shrug, she met Claire's eyes.

"How about you let Aunt Claire pull it back into a pretty bow?"

"I don't like bows." Ava announced, standing up and playing with one of her stuffed animals. "Don't like dresses either. Wish I was a boy."

"You're too pretty to be a boy." Claire said to Ava as she began to brush Eden's hair back. Turning her attention back to Lillian, she raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Did you catch _Evanna's Secret_ this morning?"

"Couldn't put it down. I can't believe Davenport knew Jack!" Lillian cried excitedly.

"I know…and Jack's awful shrew of a wife. How she treated Evanna…" Claire said with a shake of her head. "I wish I knew who was writing this damned addictive story so I could thank them for giving my Saturday mornings a new purpose." Lillian laughed. "It has to be a woman." Claire went on. "Only a woman would be able to write from the mind of a woman like that."

"We'll never know." Lillian replied.

"Well, whoever writes it is a genius." Claire looked dreamily to the side. "When Davenport felt the baby move…"

"I wish I knew that feeling." Lillian said, watching the two little girls move to play together in the corner with their play tea set. As the two fell silent, and the minutes began to pass, Lillian felt herself drifting off, thinking.

"_Madame Arnott, Monsieur is home. He is asking to see you." The housekeeper said to Lillian, who was overseeing her oldest son's lessons. The boy looked up at her. _

"_Mother, is Father going to stay very long this time?" He asked with big hazel eyes. Lillian touched his sandy brown hair. _

"_I don't know, sweeting…you know he travels often." She replied sadly, wishing the boy could know more than two days at a time with his father. Leaving the schoolroom, she went to meet her husband in his study, moving very carefully as she was heavily with child once again. Mercer gave her protruding stomach a bored glance before turning to her all business. _

"_I've been told that you have allowed our son to take up the piano rather than riding lessons." _

"_Mercer, he's deathly afraid of horses, he--" She was cut off by the sharp sound of his voice. _

"_I want a son who is a man. Not a Mama's Boy. You have failed me Lillian, as you have always failed me…"_

The scene faded away and was replaced by another instantly.

_Lillian was curled up in front of a fire, sitting in someone's embrace. Two laughing children were opening gifts excitedly. Looking down, Lillian's hands were settled over a pair of masculine hands that were on her rounded abdomen. Both of them wore gold wedding bands and the only sounds that could be heard were the squeals of the children. When the children came to the last box, it let out a sound and they jumped backward. _

"_Maman!" The little girl cried, pointing. "The present just made a noise." _

"_It's a puppy!" The boy cried, throwing the top of and giggling as the shiny black dog leapt from the box and into his arms. Lillian laughed, watching the children romp with the animal. Turning in her husbands arms, she moved to meet his eyes. James grinned down at her with an eyebrow raised. _

"_You're full of surprises, aren't you James Westcliff?" _

"_Wait until later, Lillian Westcliff and I'll show you." He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, sending a thrill through her. _

Lillian shot up at the sound of Charles's voice in the hallway. Claire too, looked as though she had been dozing and roused. Both little girls were curled up asleep as well and it had become night. Charles appeared in the doorway, holding an extremely tiny bundle. Claire stood and Lillian scrambled to her feet to peer down at the infant. Charles had a dazed look on his face.

"Mirabelle." He said quietly.

"A baby girl." Claire laughed. "She's so little. Emmy looked as though she were carrying a full grown child."

"Funny thing about that…" Charles replied quietly. "Emmy is birthing the second one right now." Claire looked confused, meeting Lillian's eyes. A small grin curled Lillian's lips.

"Twins?" Claire asked as Gustave walked into the room with the boys.

"Twins." Charles confirmed with half a smile as the baby girl opened her eyes.

_

* * *

  
_

Roger was staring out the window ready for the day to end. He'd been unable to do much of anything since the funeral, but it was worse to be at home alone. After they'd buried Nadir, he'd retreated into himself, barely speaking two words to anyone.

"Monsieur Tiernay?" His secretary said, coming into the room hesitantly.

"Yes?" He asked expectantly. The woman nodded toward the waiting room.

"There is a man here to see you. Delacour." She said. Roger nodded, gesturing for him to be sent in and sat up straighter, half dreading the news he was about to receive. He watched the older man walk into the room.

"I have been unable to contact your family," The man said, "But I have learned that the Tiernays are an aristocratic Irish family. They hold an Earldom to be exact. I have also learned that your grandfather, Michael Tiernay, passed away four years ago. I don't know much else yet."

"Thank you, Delacour." Roger replied weakly, "I think that is all I will require. I no longer wish to press this issue. These people will never be my family. They killed my father…" He sighed and sat in his desk chair. Quickly, he wrote the man a check and nodded. "I appreciate your help. Here is a bit more than we agreed on."

"I can't accept this, Tiernay." Delacour said as his eyes widened at the amount of money. "I didn't find anything."

"I don't care. You did enough. Thank you."

Roger watched as the man disappeared out the door before reaching for the bottle of brandy beside his desk and pouring himself a drink. Twenty-seven years he had waited to find out who he truly was and now, he no longer cared because the only person he really cared for was gone. His next move was clear. He was going to have to start from scratch and build his own family. Getting up, he quickly walked into the front and approached his secretary.

"Ruth," He said, "I need a good florist."

* * *

"The babies are perfect. Healthy and good sized." Julienne's mother was telling Aunt Fern and Uncle Dag at the Opera Populaire's Season Closing Ball. Julienne stood at her mother's side bored. Her father was in conversation with Madame Reynolds and the two were laughing. Curious, she scanned the room and found precisely who she was looking for immediately.

Simon was standing beside Gustave and James as the three drank some champagne. Mustering her courage, Julienne excused herself and walked straight over to the trio.

"How are you Jules?" James asked, bending to kiss her cheek when she approached. Smiling up at him she shrugged.

"I hate these things. So boring. How's Claire faring tonight?" She asked Gustave.

"She hates feeling sick. It makes her crazy. You know how your sister needs to micromanage everything." He laughed. She nodded, knowing exactly what her brother-in-law was talking about. Forcing herself to look up into the ice blue eyes of Simon, she nodded toward the hall.

"Can we talk?" She asked. Nodding grimly, he followed her and she ignored the inquiring looks of Gustave and James.

Julienne made sure no one was around before she turned to Simon with a look of sympathy.

"I saw you the other day at the cemetery." She told him. Simon nodded, obviously remembering.

"And?"

"I'm sorry." She said gently. "I never knew about your sister."

"Forget it." He said curtly.

"I just…if you ever want to talk--"

"No." Simon told her firmly. "I don't. I don't ever want to talk about it." Becoming defensive, he added, "And I don't appreciate you putting yourself into my personal business."

"It's a public cemetery, Simon." Julienne pointed out. He looked away.

"Drop it, Julienne." He said quietly. "Please."

"But I just want to help, I--" She was cut off when he roughly pressed his lips against hers and invaded her mouth with his velvety tongue. A long sound that was dangerously close to a moan left her, but was muffled by his mouth. She let her fingers run along the scratchy edge of his jaw, over the golden stubble that grew there. It ignited a fire inside her that she had never felt before. Arching, she struggled to feel more of him against her as she tried to twine her leg around his. He hoisted her up and reached down for a moment to the hem of her dress, when the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted them. He let go of her and whirled around, while she looked past him at an all too familiar figure.

Dad.

"Oh dear." She whispered, looking ashamed. Her father looked slightly murderous.

"What are you doing Julienne Olivia Destler?"

"I was…it was…I j-just…" She began but Erik shook his head to silence her. Even worse, her mother was standing with him, looking from Simon to Julienne in horror. Erik turned to Simon as his parents joined.

"Simon, there you are!" Madame Reynolds said, trailing off as she saw the rumpled state of their clothing. "What is going on here?"

"Congratulations," Erik said looking Simon in the eyes warningly. "You are now engaged."

"What?" Julienne cried in protest. "But Dad!"

"You have acted inappropriately, Julienne." Erik said. "You will marry Simon."

Julienne watched as Simon's parents figured out what had happened. His mother gave him a look of exasperation.

"Oh Simon!" She said, her voice full of disappointment. Catching herself, Meg Reynolds took Julienne's hands. "Not that I don't want you for a daughter, dear…I just wish it had been on your own terms."

"You will marry immediately." Monsieur Reynolds added, giving his son a pointed look. "Bring her for supper tomorrow night." He smiled briefly at Julienne, before giving his son one last look and escorting his wife back into the ballroom.

"It's for the best, sweetheart." Evangeline said to her daughter, looking cautiously at her husband. As her parents walked away, Julienne felt as if she were out of her own body, watching herself from a distance. Vaguely, she turned to look at Simon's bewildered face. He met her eyes.

"What the devil just happened here?"


	9. When Words Fail

Julienne paced nervously as she waited for her new fiancé to arrive. He was going to take her to his parents' home for dinner. She had changed her dress three times already and was presently considering a fourth change. She and Simon had barely been engaged for a full day and everything was happening so quickly. Her mother and Esme stood near, each offering small bits of support that did nothing but fuel her fear even more. Would the Reynolds be disappointed that their only son had been trapped into marriage with a spinster? Would they question whether Simone could be happy with someone who couldn't even find her own husband? Someone who had spent the better part of eight years more interested in writing than socializing?

Even Julienne's own mother wasn't entirely aware of her devotion to her craft. They were cut from the same cloth, Evangeline and Julienne, but by the time she had been Julienne's age, Evie had made a name for herself. Jules hadn't even accomplished _that._

"That does it." Julienne said, turning back toward the stairs. "I'm changing back into the green-" Esme and her mother caught her by the waist before she could get very far.

"Julienne," Evie said calmly, smoothing her daughter's hair. "You look fine."

"I can't do this." Julienne replied, slumping miserably.

"Everything is going to work out for the best." Esme assured her. "Do you _really_ think Dad would let him back out on you now?"

"_That's _the problem!" She lamented, "I don't want Simon to marry me because he _has _too."

"It's a bit late for that, my love." Her mother said gently. "You might as well get used to the idea, dear. Didn't you once fancy Simon?"

"Maman, that was eight years ago." Julienne reminded her dryly.

"I was ten." Esme giggled, sobering when Jules shot her a look.

"I hate you." She muttered under her breath. Just then, the doorbell rang, causing all three women to start. Evie moved quickly to open it and stepped aside to let Simon inside. He was well dressed as always, with his clothes perfectly tailored and pressed to perfection. His blond hair stood out in contrast to the deep blue of his coat and cravat. To her disgust, Julienne felt her heart beat erratically, the way it had when she wanted him long ago. In his hand was a bouquet of flowers. Approaching her, he gave her the bouquet, which she handed off to her mother to put into water. Julienne ignored the cheeky grins on both Esme and her mother's faces.

"All set?" He asked politely. She nodded, meeting his eyes and taking the arm he offered to her. She said a quick goodbye to her mother and sister and let him lead her to his carriage.

"I have something for you." Simon told her once the carriage door was closed and they had begun to move. Julienne furrowed her brows expectantly as he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a jewelry box.

"I figured you deserved this at least before we're forced into this." Julienne winced at the resentment in Simon's voice, but to her surprise, she loved the ring. It was an impressive diamond with two smaller stones on either side of it. "It fits." Simon said in relief. "Good. I made Anna come along and try it on."

"It's beautiful." Julienne said, staring at it.

"My parents are secretly glad." He said, almost more to himself than to her. "They've been after me to marry for ages."

"Mine too." Julienne admitted. "They're supportive of me, but I can tell they're both relieved that I am not going to end up a spinster."

"Well," He said, looking ahead. "I suppose we'll just have to make the best out of a bad situation."

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sarcastic remark, she watched out the window for the remainder of the drive.

Simon's parents lived in an impressive house across town and seeing the sprawling gardens and lovely terrace made Julienne feel just the slightest bit better about meeting them. What kind of a girl would they take her for, cavorting with men in the hallways of opera houses? To her surprise, his mother was waiting for them at the door as if she had been watching for them out the window. She was a petite woman, barely standing at Julienne's shoulder, with an abundance of lovely blonde hair. Her husband matched her perfectly. He was as tall as Simon with light hair as well, but the difference was in the few streaks of silver in Monsieur Reynolds's hair. Simon's sister, Anna, Julienne knew, but they were not close with each other. She looked precisely like her mother except that she was a bit taller. Julienne had never seen a family so perfectly alike in their looks. They were beautiful. She felt like a giant, dark intruder in this group of porcelain dolls.

"Welcome, Julienne dear." Madame Reynolds said, taking her by the hands and standing on her toes to kiss Julienne's cheeks. "I'm Marguerite Reynolds, Simon's mother and this is Brett, his father and you know Anna."

"It's wonderful to meet you." Julienne smiled at the woman, trying very hard to hide her nervousness.

"Simon's told us all about you." Brett Reynolds said, winking at his son, who scowled.

"Good things, I hope." Julienne replied, looking at Simon, who gave a quick nod.

"You're Erik and Evie's daughter, I couldn't have hoped for better if I'd lined up all of the marriageable young ladies in my parlor." She winked at her son. "Come on, you all, dinner is being set as we speak."

Julienne followed Simon's parents into the dining room with her arm linked through her fiancé's. He pulled out her chair for her and allowed her to sit before he took his seat across from her.

"As you know," Madame Reynolds said when the soup had been placed in front of them, "Your father and my mother were very good friends."

"Yes, I remember him speaking of her." Julienne said, remembering how distraught her father was when Madame Giry had succumbed to illness. "He's never told us how they met though, and I've always been curious."

"Well, my mother was in training at the Paris opera and your father was in a traveling fair. I won't go into detail because it isn't polite dinner talk, but he was…on display…so to speak." Julienne felt a twinge of horror. "She rescued him and brought him to the opera. She assisted him in living there…"

"No wonder he was so fond of her." Julienne murmured, sipping her wine. "You say he was on display?" Meg's smile faded slightly and she nodded.

"The right side of his face. They were making money off of him." Meg said, but looked up. "You know the rest. I'll say one thing, your mother is the best thing that ever happened to him."

Julienne decided she liked Meg Reynolds immediately. Brett grinned at his wife.

"Shall I tell her about how we met?" He asked and Meg raised an eyebrow at him.

"You mean how you assaulted me at Christine's wedding and proceeded to pine for me until we met again in London three years later?" She asked. He grinned wryly.

"Precisely, my love." He said, waggling his eyebrows at her. Meg looked back at Julienne.

"I was minding my own business, talking with Christine and Raoul at their reception when this buffoon approached me." She gave her husband an adoring look. "He begged me to dance with him and went on to say that if I did not he would die of heartbreak."

"A bit melodramatic, Pa." Simon quipped with a chuckle. Brett shrugged.

"I had to have her."

"Three years later, I was training London ballerinas and who should I see on the streets of London but Brett Reynolds." Meg laughed. "I consented to let him buy me dinner and decided that I liked him."

"I'd say you more than liked me after that night." Brett reminded her, making her blush. She gave him a reproachful look.

"Scandalous!" Anna cried, giggling and giving Julienne a look. "I've heard this story thousands of times and you will too. They love to tell it."

"Needless to say, I gave him permission to court me and to my mother's utter shock, he proposed barely three weeks later. We were married half a year later, in the summer."

"We waited to have children though." Brett said, grinning at Simon. "Simon came over a year after we married."

"Very smart." Julienne nodded. "I think people should get used to each other before they bring another person into the equation."

"Very sensible." Meg agreed. "Two years after Simon, came our little Rose and then, Grace…"

"Don't." Simon interrupted, hitting the table with his fist. "Don't talk about her like she's still here." Brett looked at his son in surprise.

"She was our daughter." He reminded Simon. "We aren't going to pretend she never existed." Meg stared at Simon in mild horror as he pushed his chair away from the table angrily and stormed from the room.

"Oh dear." She said quietly, looking down.

"Rose was four when she passed away. Simon blames himself." Brett explained cautiously.

"I'm…so sorry." Julienne said, filling with hurt for Simon and for this family for losing a child so young.

"It wasn't his fault." Meg said, upset. "I've told him a million times. He was only six! How could he have helped her?"

"It was during their lessons one day. They tricked their governess into leaving the room, and Simon convinced Rose to go play outside. They were climbing trees and Rose undoubtedly fell and…well, the doctor said she broke her back. She lived for half a day more and died." Brett looked pained. "He's never recovered. Meg was pregnant with Anna at the time and as a result of this, Simon has always been unbearably protective of Gracie and Anna."

"I had no idea." Julienne said.

"You were just a baby when all of this happened." Meg said to her, "In fact, your father was so helpful after Rose died, he and your mother took in Simon and Grace for a few days until we sorted everything out."

"I'll go talk to him." Brett said, rising, but Julienne stopped him.

"Let me." She insisted, getting up and leaving the room.

Simon was sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands.

"Leave me be." He growled at her. Swallowing, Julienne gathered her courage and sat beside him, hesitantly touching his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly. He glared at her.

"What do you care?"

"I care, Simon." Julienne replied defensively. "I'm going to be your wife."

"I'm not going to talk about it, so everyone can just forget that." Simon replied venomously. Julienne nodded, meeting his blue eyes.

"You don't have to." She assured him, taking his hand. "I just want you to know, that when you're ready, I'll be here." He stared at her contemplatively for a few moments. "Come on, let's go back to dinner." Julienne said, standing and holding her hand out for him to take. To her relief, he took it almost immediately.

* * *

"Pardon me." Esme said to the older lady at the desk in Roger's office. She had never been to his place of work before and felt almost silly, but she needed to talk to him. He had always been her nearest source of comfort. "I would like to see Monsieur Tiernay."

"Do you have an appointment?" The secretary asked impatiently. Esme shook her head and the woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Tiernay does not see any people without appointments-"

"It's all right, Belle." Roger said, coming into the room and seeing her. Esme sighed in relief. "She's a good friend." He explained to Belle, who was appeased by this and went back to her filing. "Come into my office, Esme." He said pleasantly, taking her arm and shutting the door behind them.

"I came to thank you for the beautiful flowers, Roger." She explained nervously. "I hope I haven't interrupted your work or-"

"Not at all." Roger laughed, leaning against his desk and folding his arms across his chest. "I thought you would like wildflowers better than roses."

"You know me too well." She replied with a smile. "How are you, Roger?"

"Well," His face turned a bit troubled. "It's been difficult to walk into that empty house all alone every night. I miss him."

"I know…" Esme nodded. "But you know you are always welcome with the Destlers, Roger. We love you."

"Even you?" He asked in a slightly new voice, tilting his head. Esme drew in a breath and nodded.

"Even me. More than the others. I always have." She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she glanced over the handsome features she loved so much. The rich amber of his skin and the golden hazel of his eyes complimented the ebony silk of his hair. A slow smile came to his face as if he might address the unspoken emotions that had been passing between them since her birthday.

"I heard of Julienne's engagement." He said. "Your father stopped by yesterday and told me."

"Yes, we were all quite surprised. I'm worried for her. They don't seem to suit well, do they?" She commented and Roger shrugged thoughtfully.

"Sometimes it is the people who are most different from each other that fit together the best." He replied. Esme looked down, her cheeks heating.

"I've proven to myself even more today that I don't fit in society." She told him and his eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about, Esme Marie?" He asked, coming closer. She was unable to meet his eyes.

"I had tea at Claire's this afternoon and when I had a difference of opinion with a woman, I…I…" She sighed, angry with herself. "I forgot myself and argued with her during the tea party. She was wrong and I knew it, but I couldn't keep my mouth shut." Esme blinked against the burning of tears at the memory. "Claire was so understanding and sweet to me, but Maman…she scolded me. Our mother hardly ever raises her voice to us, but she did to me today. I feel like such an idiot."

"Esme…" He began, but she went on.

"I don't belong _anywhere_." Esme exclaimed.

"That's not true, Esme." He said, crossing the distance between them and pulling her into his warm arms. "You belong right _here._" He took her hand and placed it over his heart. "You know that."

"Roger, are you in love with me?"

Her question went unanswered, however, because the door opened and Belle was standing with a gentleman who looked to be in his forties.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Tiernay." Belle said with a helpless shrug. "This man insisted on meeting with you." Esme looked up at Roger with a sigh.

"I was just leaving." She said, letting go of his hand and looking into his eyes. "This isn't over, Roger." She warned. Roger nodded slightly.

"I will come see you tonight." He promised and she shut the door behind her, following Belle out of the office.

* * *

Roger sat down at his desk, an array of conflicting emotions flooding his mind. He gestured to his guest to have a seat in one of the office chairs. Looking up, he saw the man was fair haired and extremely well dressed. Almost too well dressed for a businessman.

"What can I do for you, Monsieur…?"

"Smythe." The man replied pleasantly. "Robert." It became apparent the man was Irish when he spoke. "I am in need of some legal advice. You see, my wife died when I was very young and we were left with no heirs I'm afraid. So I am in the process of writing another relative into my will and wanted to get a lawyer's opinion on the matter." He explained. Roger's eyes narrowed as he met the man's hazel eyes.

"And you needed to come all the way to France to speak with a lawyer. I was under the impression that you could find one in London with no problems."

Smythe chuckled.

"I like you, Tiernay. That's an Irish name, is it not?" He said. Roger nodded stiffly.

"It is." He agreed. "My father was Irish. My mother was Persian. Not exactly a match made in Heaven." Smythe nodded, giving Roger a small smile.

"No, not ideal." He allowed. "So what am I to do to write my relative into my will?"

"Well, I would advise employing a lawyer a bit closer to your home. Obviously you are not from France…"

"No." Smythe agreed.

"After that, it's simple. Just inform the lawyer of the changes you wish to make and he will take care of the rest. But really, anyone could have told you that." Roger said, feeling uncomfortable with the way the man seemed to study him as well.

"Well that does help. Thank you for your time. I was on business here in France when I was informed that I had another relative who was a suitable heir."

"Ah." Roger said, uninterested as he stood. Smythe stood as well.

"I will write a check to you for your trouble, how much?"

"No charge." Roger protested, holding his hands up to stop the man. "I am happy to help." Smythe nodded gratefully and held his hand out for Roger to shake. He stared at it for a moment before shaking the man's hand. An odd feeling of déjà vu swept over Roger, but he did not recognize the man, so he shrugged it off.

As soon as Smythe had left, Roger informed Belle that he would be leaving for the day and she could close early if she wished. He had unfinished business to attend.

The house was empty when he got to the Destler's, except for Esme, who had arrived home just a few minutes before. The butler explained that the family was visiting with Emmy and the children. Esme was sitting on the terrace, staring desolately out into the gardens with her hands in her lap. Roger did not pause to sit beside her on the two seated settee.

"That was fast." She mused, looking over at him. "Now, are you going to answer my question?"

"Refresh my memory…" Roger replied weakly, stalling. She gave him a frustrated look.

"Are you or are you not in love with me?" She wondered aloud. "Because if you are not, I would like to know so that I can move on with my life and try to find someone suitable."

"You shouldn't be waiting on my account, Esme." He told her.

"Is that a no then?" She asked, sounding a bit disappointed. Roger sighed in exasperation.

"No! But that is irrelevant-"

"So you admit it then." Esme said calmly, trying to hide her smile. Panic filled Roger.

"I-" He stopped at a loss.

"Just say it." She touched his hand. "It doesn't mean anything has to happen, yet.'

"I admit it." He told her quietly, defeated. Nodding, she looked back out to the garden with the slightest of smiles on her face.

"I thought so."

* * *

James was surprised to return home from lunch with his sister to find Lillian sitting on the front steps of his townhouse. She looked panicked, which worried him even more as he sat beside her.

"Are you all right?" He asked, studying her. She looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and he could see she had been crying, but she was smiling.

"James, I'm ready." She whispered, reaching for his hand, which he gave without hesitation. "I'm ready to let go of Mercer."

Dreadful hope inflated James's chest, making his heart beat so fast, he was barely able to breathe quick enough to keep up with it.

"Did something happen?" He inquired, wondering if there had been a confrontation of sorts. She shook her head and met his eyes.

"I am so tired of being scared and alone…and I realized that the only times I've felt really good is when I'm with you…" Sniffing, she accepting the handkerchief he offered her. "I am not ready to become engaged." She admitted to him, "But if we take it one small step at a time, I can't imagine myself being with anyone else anymore. I want to try…with you."

Taking her chin gently into his hand, he searched her dark eyes, smoothing her hair with the other hand.

"Are you sure?" He asked and when she nodded, he allowed his lips to descend over hers. Lillians hands moved over his chest and around to the back of his neck to hold him closer to her. James parted her lips and gave her the loving pressure of his tongue, causing her to gasp. Standing with her arms around him, he stopped kissing her long enough to look giddily down at her.

"Are you hungry?" He asked suddenly. She frowned in bemusement.

"Yes, but…"

"Come inside." James took her hand and opened the door. "I'll make you dinner."

Half an hour later, Lillian was perched on a kitchen chair while he moved about the kitchen preparing food.

"So what changed your mind?" He asked, chopping up a bit of garlic and onions together and putting them into a pan together with fresh mushrooms.

"Well, I had a dream." Lillian replied sheepishly. "As stupid as it sounds. I had a dream about what my future with Merce would be like and I realized that in my infatuation with him, I had failed to see what he was really like. He's a perfectionist and he only cares for himself."

"What happened in the dream?" James asked.

"We had a son who preferred playing the piano to horseback riding and Mercer told me that I had failed him. Mercer was always-"

"Taste this." James cut her off, giving her a spoonful of the sautéed mushrooms. She took a bite and a thrill went through him as she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor.

"That's delicious…" She practically moaned, making him smirk. "Anyway, Merce was always away on business and the child wanted to see him so badly." Lillian looked down into her hands, making his heart ache to think of her married to Arnott with his child. "And then I had a dream about you." She went on, taking him by surprise.

"About me?" He asked.

"I dreamed we were married and we had two little children, a boy and a girl…and it was Christmas and you surprised us all with a puppy. We were all so happy. I realized, I want that. And it's you…it's always been you."

"There's never been anyone else for me either." James said, reaching for her. She came to him gladly and he buried his face into the warm vanilla smell of her dark hair. "There never will be." He added, holding her closer.

* * *

**Next up, the wedding...(Julienne and Simon I mean...), a surprise guest and much, much more in store!!!!**

**Sorry for the delay**

**~Syd  
**


	10. The Bride

* * *

_NOTE: EVANNA'S SECRET WILL BE ON A SHORT HIATUS. IT WILL RETURN IN THREE WEEKS TIME ON JUNE 14, 1907._

_THANK YOU...TIMES STAFF  
_

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* * *

  
_

Julienne stared at her reflection in the mirror on the afternoon of her wedding day. She and Simon had opted for a more modern evening wedding rather than a wedding breakfast. She had never felt so unsure about anything in her life. Since she had been a child, Julienne had meticulously planned things out with the greatest of care. She thought things through until she was blue in the face. It was one of her greatest flaws, her unwillingness to take risks. She knew it was the most probable reason for her being a spinster.

It wasn't as if men hadn't been interested in her. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact. However, none of them had ever met her standards and she always found herself disappointed in them. So she had never married, thus becoming an old maid, and was now lucky enough to be wearing a wedding dress of her own. So, why then could she not manage to feel an ounce of happiness?

This was not how she had imagined her wedding day.

The dress was beautiful, she could not deny that. Her mother had sent out for Lady Priscilla the day after her engagement and Dad had paid some impressive sum for this concoction of ivory lace and satin. Her black hair had been brushed until it had a glossy sheen to it and it had been pinned in perfect curls at the nape of her neck. A simple veil of sheer lace had been placed over her hair and face. A bouquet of white orchids, lilies and roses was in her hands. She wore no jewelry but for the gold cross around her neck.

Julienne felt like crying and looked away from her reflection. Tonight, she would leave this comfortable room that she had lived in her entire life and share her bed with someone who didn't even want her there. She could no longer just walk into the parlor and talk with her mother if she was feeling down. Julienne realized, with some dismay, that she was not ready to be on her own.

"You don't look like a bride on her wedding day." Julienne turned to see Claire standing in the doorway to her room. "You look like someone who has been sentenced to death." Claire made her way into the room, holding her swollen middle as she perched on the side of Julienne's bed.

"This doesn't feel right." Julienne admitted, sitting beside her. "He's going to resent me forever." Claire studied her face for a moment before drawing her close.

"It will grow on him. He likes you."

"Not enough to want to spend the rest of his life with me." Julienne replied miserably, sighing.

"You don't have to go through with this Peach." Claire told her, using her childhood pet name, and taking her hand. "You know you'll always have a place with one of us."

"I don't want to have a place with one of you!" Julienne cried, feeling bad instantly. "Not that I don't love you all dearly," She remedied, "But I don't want to be a spinster. As stupid as it sounds…I would rather live in my own house and be respectable with someone who resents me than watch everyone else live around me."

"I understand." Claire nodded, her eyebrows rising suddenly. "Baby is moving a lot today."

"Thank you." Julienne said, resting her head on Claire's shoulder.

"I'm your older sister. I'd do anything for you."

"Julienne, the carriage is waiting downstairs—" Evie said, coming into the room looking rushed. She was carrying Claire's son Lucien and Esme was just behind her, holding little Erik's hand. "Oh good, Claire. You came up first." Evie smiled at them. Julienne tried to return her mother's smile, but barely managed to turn up the corners of her lips.

"Ready?" Claire asked, holding her sister's hand. Julienne shrugged.

"No. But it's going to happen anyway, isn't it?"

The ride to the Cathedral was surprisingly short, at least in Julienne's mind, it seemed like seconds. She barely walked through the doors when the procession was lined up to walk down the aisle. James stood with Simon at the altar as his best man as the couples began to make their way down. First was Simon's sister, Grace and his school friend, Christopher Fournier. Next, were Madeleine and Charles, followed by Anna and Gustave. Bella and Tris were behind them with Roger and Esme after that until finally, Lucien and Erik jointly walked down, holding the rings on a small pillow. Claire had orchestrated this, since she was the matron of honor so that she could follow behind them in case they decided to act up in the middle of the ceremony.

Sure enough, Lucien accidentally tripped over his own little feet and bumped Erik, who glared at him. At Claire's small, but sure throat clearing, the boys straightened up and went on their way. The doors closed and Amelia's daughter Demi, who was the flower girl, stepped up to the door. Julienne held her father's arm tightly as the doors reopened to let Demi in so that she could scatter her flower petals.

"I'm proud of you." Julienne heard her father say as they waited to be let in.

"Why?" Jules asked him dryly. "I've shamed you, shamed Simon…this can't be what you had in mind for me." Erik chuckled darkly.

"No, I suppose you're right, but Peach, you have been different since the day you were born. You were always so independent. I admire you. You remind me so much of your mother." Erik quickly leaned down to kiss her cheek, which was flushed with nervousness and the tiniest thrill of anticipation. The doors opened, flooding the back of the church with light as Julienne allowed her father to guide her towards Simon. He was staring at her with no expression on his face. He did not look unhappy, nor did he look particularly thrilled. In a perfect scenario, he would have been smiling lovingly at her, looking into her eyes as she walked toward him. Instead, he met her eyes and nodded in acknowledgement.

Her father gave her away as the ceremony began and it was much the same throughout. In all of her siblings' wedding ceremonies, there had been tearful, emotional vows and smiles. Neither of their voices wavered once. They remained stoic during the readings and though Julienne felt her heart lurch when Simon placed the ring on her finger, she did not show it. He was similarly unaffected by the ceremony, and when it was over, he lifted her veil and pressed a fast kiss to her lips. Tears threatened to sting the corners of her eyes at the displeasure she felt in his indifference. Once, she would have given anything to be Simon's wife, but now…she had no idea what she'd gotten herself into.

Once inside their carriage, he finally spoke to her.

"You look very pretty." He said in someone else's voice.

"Thank you." She replied, sounding more like a child than an adult woman of twenty-six. He took pity on her and held her hand.

"You have nothing to worry about." He said quietly. "I will make sure you have everything you need."

_What I need is love._ Julienne thought ruefully, though she appreciated his gesture.

"I know." She answered instead, smiling at him.

* * *

"I've never seen a more miserable bride and groom." Roger said as he danced with Esme, looking toward where Julienne and Simon sat stiffly together. Esme frowned.

"Well, most of the weddings you've been to have been love matches." She pointed out. "This was like watching two strangers read vows out of a book."

"She loves him." Roger said, eyeing Julienne. Esme looked up into his face.

"How do you know?" She asked, following his gaze. Roger turned her expertly with the music.

"Even though they aren't speaking to each other, she is slightly leaning toward him. It's as if she wants to be close to him. She's reaching out for him." Roger explained, catching Esme's waist and hoisting her slightly off of the ground. Her breath caught in excitement as her cheek brushed against his.

"What are your observations about me?" She asked playfully, spinning around so that her skirts flared. He stared down at her with an unfathomable look in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"We need to address what's between us." Esme told him, trying not to seem frustrated. "Are you going to court me? I've been waiting for you to say something to me…to write me a note…_anything_."

"I want to…" He sighed as the music ended. "But every time I think of giving in completely to it, there is something holding me back." Looking away, Roger let her take his arm and led her to the side of the room. "I've been dreaming lately."

"About what?" Esme asked, standing as close to him as propriety would allow. His smell was slightly intoxicating. He smelled of oranges and tobacco and soap. It was delicious, filling her senses as she'd never felt before. His fingers caressed her gloved hand ever so gently, causing a jolt of awareness to every nerve in her body.

"My parents." He admitted, looking downward. "Mostly my father, but sometimes my mother. I know it's because Nadir is gone and there is no one left for me. My father's family would die of shame if they knew about me. He was the heir to an Irish Earldom…"

"He was?" Esme asked in a hushed voice.

"I've decided that finding them was not for the best." Roger added. "I have stopped searching."

"What if they find you?" She wondered aloud and he stared at her in confusion.

"Why would they want to find me? I would be in the way of their heirs, since I am the legitimate heir to the title…my grandfather is dead. I am technically the Earl now. I would just be in the way of the person they wanted to have the title. I'm an embarrassment. A half breed."

"You aren't an embarrassment!" Esme scolded him, touching his cheek. "I think you would be a wonderful Earl."

"You think?" Roger asked with half a smile, looking down at her.

"It's your right." She insisted. "You should claim it."

"I have no need for titles and estates and Parliament. I'd much rather stay here with my tiny law practice and see you all the time." His eyes were sparkling.

"They're your family, Roger." Esme said sadly. He shook his head, meeting her eyes. A spark of pleasure made her heart beat faster as she stared into the golden eyes.

"They wanted my mother dead, Esme. I have no use for them. I never knew Leila, but she didn't deserve to die. Neither did my father." His voice was grim.

"I'll be your family." Esme said, hating the naiveté in her voice. "I would be a good wife to you."

"Sweetheart, I know that. I've always known…but I'm still coming to terms with what I've learned." He swallowed. "I promise you, after this is all over; I'll make things right with you."

"I'm not going to wait forever." She lied, resting her head against his shoulder and allowing him to put an arm around her waist.

"I know." His voice was very faint.

* * *

Lillian smiled to herself as she caught sight of James making his way toward her after dancing with Claire. He was dressed in a beautiful blue frock coat with his blue black hair hanging in loose waves around his face. His eyes looked especially blue with the contrast of his hair and the color of his clothes.

"You wore blue too." He smiled, reaching her and kissing her hand. Lily swallowed hard, trying to keep her cool as she nodded at him.

"Julienne looks really beautiful today." Lillian said, looking past him to where Simon and Jules sat together, speaking with well wishers and family. James nodded.

"Simon is an idiot." He said, discreetly taking her hand. Her breathing stopped completely for a moment. "He's treating her like a stranger."

"They were forced into it." Lillian pointed out gently.

"Regardless…Jules is one of the smartest, prettiest girls we know. He's lucky to have her." Lillian smirked.

"Perhaps you should have offered for her then." She teased, eliciting a glare from him.

"You know it isn't like that." James said, sounding irritated.

"You did court her once." Lillian reminded him and his eyes widened, remembering.

"Correction: I _pretended_ to court her to make you jealous." James's eyes bore into hers. "It's _you_, Lillian."

"I am only joking." She assured him, hiding her surprise. "Come, I want to talk to her." She pulled him by the arm and grinned when he came willingly, only pretending she was dragging him along. Julienne smiled up at them and Lily could not miss the underlying sadness in her blue eyes.

"You are so lovely." Lillian said, reaching across the table to brush her cousin's cheek. "The most beautiful bride I've ever seen."

"Definitely." James agreed, kissing Julienne's cheek and winking at her.

"Claire was prettier." Julienne laughed, pushing James away and shaking her head.

"She doesn't compare to you." Simon shocked them all by saying, finally breaking his silence. "I've always thought you to be the prettier of you two. Westcliff is right. You're a beautiful bride." The three of them stared at Simon for a few moments before Julienne's cheeks turned a startling shade of pink.

"Thank you Simon." She said, almost as a question. Lillian felt a small spark of hope for the couple as James led her away.

"That was odd." James mused, once they were out of hearing distance from them. Lily nodded thoughtfully, her eyes falling on Bella talking with Giselle and Nora. She looked slightly seasick, but was smiling. Lillian's parents were dancing themselves, grinning at each other like teenagers. It was a very familiar sight that warmed her heart to see that after all of these years, they still loved each other. Many couples were distant after years of marriage, but not the Holdens.

"You look like your mother." James told her, watching her parents. "You have your father's eyes, but you look just like her."

"You think?" She asked with a small smile before sobering. "By my age she had a child and another on the way. She'd been married for eight years."

"Well, in eight years _you'll _be married and no doubt with a child." He said, squeezing her hand. "We'll have one every year if it makes you happy."

"You really want to marry me?" She laughed.

"If I thought you would let me, I would suggest we elope this very night." He waggled his eyebrows mischievously at her. She pushed at his chest, giggling.

"Oh you brute."

He grinned wickedly and leaned down so that he was speaking directly into her ear.

"I would carry you off in the night and put my ring on your finger and then take you back to my bed where I would do terrible ravishing things to you." He kissed her temple before pulling away. Lillian was trembling with sensation, though she would never show it in public, but James knew. He beamed down at her in satisfaction, but quickly lost the smile, looking past her. When she heard him curse under his breath, she knew something was happening. Turning around, she gasped when she saw someone she had planned on never seeing again.

Mercer.

* * *

"I have a surprise for you." Simon told Julienne much later, as they walked up to the suite they had rented for their wedding night. He lifted her off of her feet, making her gasp and cling to the lapels of his coat. When the door opened, she was greeted by the sight of a thousand candles all over the elaborate room. Setting her down, he looked into her face. "If you never feel anything more than mere affection for me, take comfort in knowing that I will make sure you enjoy coming into my bed."

He could see the erratic little pulse at her throat as she looked up at him with her big sky blue eyes.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do." She whispered. Taking her hand, he helped her to sit on the bed.

"Let me worry about it." Simon said, kissing her cheek and getting to his knees. Lifting the skirts of her intricate wedding dress, he removed her slippers and reached up her legs, making her inhale sharply. Swiftly, he removed her stockings and lifted her foot to his mouth. Julienne let out a small sound as he pressed his lips to the top of her delicate foot, flicking his tongue over the sensitive area near her pretty little toes.

Moving off of the floor, he climbed onto the bed beside her and brought her face to his, kissing her lips gently and easing her onto her back. He didn't deepen the kiss right away, moving his hands over her middle and up her body to rest at her throat, pressing two fingers over her pulse. He urged her lips apart with his tongue and soothingly searched her mouth, probing deeply. A whimper left her and her body instinctively arched, straining to be closer to him.

Slowly, he replaced his fingers at her throat with the soft pressure of his lips and moved down her body, once again falling to his knees before her. With patient hands, he moved her knees apart and lifted the hem of her dress, pushing it upward until it was pooled around her, hiding her face from his view. Hitching his fingers beneath the soft fabric of her drawers, he untied the satin ribbon holding them together and presently discarded them. She was beautiful, spread before him like a pagan goddess. When he dared to touch her most private place, her hands came to stop him out of modesty. Grabbing her wrists, he lovingly kissed each of her palms and placed them at her sides again.

"Trust me, sweetheart."

Carefully, he spread her further and began to tease the small slip of a nub hidden there with the constant pressure of his tongue. She cried out in pleasure, her hands forgetting her modesty and moving to entwine with his hair. Simon smiled into her as he continued to tease her body with his mouth. Julienne writhed beneath him as he slipped his finger into her opening. His own clothes tightened as he felt how new and tight she was. She was truly untouched.

Simon had never been with a virgin before, and now he had this one all to himself. She would never know another man's body. The thought made him clench with arousal. He abandoned torturing her with his tongue and got up, removing his shirt. Taking her hands, he pulled her limp, aroused body to her feet and turned her away from him. With expertise, he unbuttoned her wedding dress and let it fall from her body. In the same moment, he spun her to face him and unhooked the front of her corset all in one fluid movement.

Julienne's breasts were much fuller than he had expected, rounding perfectly out from her slender body and topped with the purest pink nipples he had ever seen. Simon had seen plenty of breasts in his time, but never so perfectly shaped and made. Unable to help himself, he moved forward, pushing her back onto the bed and began to kiss the soft flesh on her chest. Again, she moved, arching up toward his mouth as he took a taut nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the rosy areole. He repeated this with the second one and moved his hand back to the dark mound of curls between her legs. Simon grinned to himself as he saw her gripping the satin sheets in her fists, moving her head from side to side in agony. Kissing her lips once more, he moved back down to finish the task of bringing her ecstasy with his mouth.

It didn't take long for her swollen flesh to quiver and pulse when he returned to the shining crevice of her feminine flesh. As she lay, sated and passive, he removed his trousers and moved over her, positioning himself at her opening. Bracing on his arms, he met her eyes.

"I'm sorry if this hurts you, love." He said. Her eyes widened in pain as he pressed forward, taking her innocence completely. She winced in pain as he began to thrust gently within her. Thinking through the exquisite agony of being contained with her virgin body, he brought his gentle fingers between them and began to manipulate her sex again. After a moment, she relaxed and he let his head drop to one of her breasts, suckling lovingly. An encouraging moan escaped the back of her throat and she took his face into her hands. Obliging her, he brought his lips to hers and cradled her as she reached her second release. A moment later, he allowed himself to spill within her, falling against her shoulder carefully, kissing the smooth flesh there. When their spasms had subsided, he removed himself from her and drew her close, kissing the top of her head. As her eyes began to close, he felt a slight tugging in his chest. Panic filled him as he gently pulled the covers over her and excused himself to the toilet. Leaning naked against the door when it was closed, he put his hands over his face and tried to breathe.

"Holy Hell." He muttered in alarm.


	11. Taking Chances

**Meanwhile…**

"What are you doing here?" Lillian asked as James shut the door to the Destlers' library. She stared at the man she'd once loved so well, even now feeling a pang of longing in her chest for him. His eyes were downcast.

"I'm an idiot, Lillian." Mercer said beseechingly, starting toward her. She backed away so suddenly that she collided with James's chest. Turning to glance up at him, she noticed his face was hard and his jaw was set as he glared at Merce.

"I want you to take me back." Mercer went on. James let out a noise between a snort and a growl.

"Over my dead body." Lillian elbowed James sharply, shaking her head at him. Mercer gave him a bored look, ignoring him completely as he returned his attention to Lillian.

"You kept me waiting for _five_ years, Merce." Her voice broke on the word 'five,' and her lip trembled.

"I know…" His voice became tender as he reached for her. She turned away, recoiling from his touch and shielding her face from him so that he did not see the betraying tear that had fallen from her eye.

"I can't." She replied, hating the nasal sound of her voice. Meeting his eyes she attempted to give him a rueful smile. "I don't have five more years to waste, Mercer." Merce smiled at this, stepping toward her as James moved away from her, watching them in horror.

"Lillian," Mercer said, taking her hand. "What if I told you that I was willing to marry you this instant? Take you to a priest this very night if it means making you my wife."

"Absolutely _not_." James interjected, moving between the two of them and looking down at Lillian with pleading eyes. "After what he did to you?"

"I'm sorry," Merce said, eyeing James. "And you are…?"

"James Westcliff." James told him gruffly, not even sparing him a glance as he gazed down at Lillian. "Tell him to get lost, Lillian. I can remove him for you-"

"Has it occurred to you that she doesn't _want_ me to leave?" Mercer inquired calmly. "I'm not going anywhere unless she says so."

"I could _physically_ remove you." James warned, advancing on the shorter man.

"Oh?" Mercer replied cockily, tilting his head. "Admire her do you, Westcliff?"

"_ENOUGH!"_ Lillian cried, pushing them apart and glaring at James. "This is not your fight." She told him sternly, before turning her fury on her former fiancé. "What happened to your precious, _Adriana?_" She asked mockingly, watching him wince. Looking pained, he met her eyes. She'd forgotten how lovely his light amber eyes were.

"She wasn't you…" He told her softly, making her heart ache.

"Oh, Merce." She felt tears spring into her eyes as her heart leapt into her throat.

"You aren't actually _believing _this garbage, are you Lily?" James asked incredulously.

"James." She growled at him.

"_Lily?_" Merce asked, giving her a questioning look. "Her name is _Lillian._"

"I know that, you ass. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces when you abandoned her after _five _bloody years of stringing her along!"

"Stop it." Lillian pleaded, looking up at James. His icy blue eyes were full of pain, making her hurt even more.

"How can you be civil to him after he hurt you?" James asked in a small voice, sounding more vulnerable than she had ever heard him. "After how far you've come these past weeks?" He was begging. Lillian longed to step into the comfort of his arms, but she was held back by her own confusion.

"I don't _know!_" She cried, hating that James was right. Hating that she still loved Mercer, after everything that had happened.

"I'm staying right here, _Lillian._" Merce said, putting emphasis on her full name and giving James a triumphant look. "My carriage is waiting outside, we can leave tonight."

"What is going on in here?" Dag Holden's voice came from the doorway.

Papa.

Lillian turned to see her parents standing there, looking at Mercer with equal expressions of disdain.

"I came to beg for Lillian to take me back. To apologize."

"Haven't you done _enough_?" James asked, folding his arms.

"I _know_ I was wrong." Mercer said defensively.

"I don't like this." Lillian heard her mother say. Papa moved toward Mercer.

"I _hate_ what you did to my little girl, Arnott." Dag said in a voice Lillian had only heard him use a choice few times in her life. "If I had my way, I would have you thrown out on your ass-"

"Dag…sweetheart." Fern stopped him nervously, taking Lillian's shaking hand. Dag nodded.

"But ultimately," Papa went on, "It is Lillian's choice, not mine."

Mercer relaxed, looking remorseful.

"Of course." He agreed. James stood by silently, his face a tight mask of wrought emotions. His blue eyes were imploring.

"I'm sorry." Lillian said to him, aching. James looked away and she had the awful suspicion that he was on the verge of tears. Without so much as a goodbye, he left the room, leaving her along with her parents and Merce. Forcing herself to look away from the door that James had just disappeared through, she took a deep breath and turned back to Merce.

"I don't know if I can forgive you, Mercer." She said, blinking rapidly against her own tears.

"Take your time." Merce said gently. "I'll be here."

* * *

**2 weeks later**

Julienne and Simon settled into a strange routine. Their days were spent apart as Simon met with investors and other entrepreneurs. He had made quite a fortune for himself, being a financial advisor to quite a prime list of clients. Simon had a gift for tripling a fortune within weeks, and had decided to use it in life. Unfortunately, this left Julienne alone most of the time.

She did find other ways to occupy her time, such as rediscovering the sheer joy she got out of putting pen to paper and creating something from it. Some afternoons, she visited with Simon's mother and Anna. Others, she spent with her own family.

At night, Simon went out. To where, Julienne was not certain, but she suspected she would not be happy with the answer. It was no secret that Simon had been a skirt chaser, and he'd not given any indication that he took his vows seriously. To think of her husband finding pleasure with other women before coming home to her bed pained her. And he did come to her bed each night, but was always gone by morning. It was hard for Julienne to believe that the caring and enthusiastic lover at night was completely indifferent to her ever other moment of the day.

She found herself attending more balls and parties, enjoying them more as a respectable matron. Things that were frowned upon for unmarried girls were completely tolerable by other married women. They all offered dry stories about their own marriages and it was comforting to stand with other women and laugh. Julienne had formed her own circle of friends since marrying Simon. Apart from talking at society events, they had teas and went shopping together, which was a nice escape.

Darya Beauchamp, formerly Westcliff, was one of them, Claire of course, though she was now in confinement, Jane, her sister and Amelia Belgrave, her cousin.

Her life would have been lovely if she wasn't so lonely for Simon. Mortifying images of Simon cavorting with other women haunted her daily.

One afternoon, it was raining and Julienne decided to stay home and occupy her time by baking, a pastime she'd adored when she'd lived with her parents. Wandering into the kitchen, she began to rummage through her pantry for the ingredients she needed. Flour, cocoa…

"Madame Reynolds?" A voice made her nearly drop everything she was holding as she whirled to see her intruder. Instant relief filled her when she saw the housekeeper, Bryna Angler standing there.

"Oh dear," Julienne said apologetically, trying to catch her breath. "I'm sorry Madame Angler. It's so dreadful outside and I thought I might bake a cake. Madame Angler lit up in relief, guiding her into the kitchen.

"Wonderful. I'll have Melinda fetch some eggs from the ice box." She said, meeting Jules's eyes with her warm, brown ones.

An hour later, the house was filled with the smell of chocolate cake and Julienne was surrounded by the servants as she recalled stories from her childhood while it cooled on the stove.

"…and then, Claire began to throw her shoes at Charles and poor Bella had to step in between and-" She cut off because she was laughing so hard. "And Bella got hit in the head with the shoe and dropped like a sack of potatoes. She was fine of course, but Claire and Charles got sent to bed that night without dessert." The entire staff laughed at her story, charmed by their new mistress.

Madame Angler smiled warmly at her.

"It's wonderful to hear laughter in this house. Monsieur Reynolds hardly ever laughs."

"I wouldn't know." Julienne replied bitterly. "He's never home."

"I don't think he likes to get very close to anyone." The cook, Monsieur Gautreau said. "He's a secretive sort."

"Yes, well he's got a wife to think about now." Madame Angler said disapprovingly. "A marriage does not thrive on absence."

"If I could only get him to _talk_ to me and open up…" Julienne trailed off, thinking of Rose.

"Hello?" Simon's voice called from the hallway, startling all of them. "Madame Angler, is Gautreau baking chocolate-?" Simon stopped as he entered the kitchen and saw his wife perched on the kitchen table surrounded by his staff.

"Monsieur Reynolds, you're home!" Madame Angler said, signaling everyone to return to work. Simon watched the housekeeper leave before giving Julienne a questioning look as he moved further into the room. She had no idea what to say as she had never spent enough time with him to have a conversation.

"Madame Reynolds baked this cake herself." Gautreau said, returning to his task of peeling potatoes for dinner.

"You _bake?_" Simon asked in surprise. Julienne nodded shyly.

"Quite well, actually." She nodded. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" She added dryly. Simon raised his eyebrows slightly, but moved past her to inspect the cake, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"My luncheon plans fell through, so I thought I would come home. It's such a miserable day."

"I was just getting ready to frost it if you'd like to help." Julienne offered cautiously, mixing the bowl of chocolate frosting that she had prepared.

"How did you know that chocolate was my favorite?" He asked, stealing a bit of frosting and eating it off of his fingertip.

"I didn't actually," She replied, ignoring how quickly her heart had begun to beat. "It's _my_ favorite."

"Touché." He chuckled, picking up the spatula and scooping out a glob of icing expertly and spreading it evenly around the cake.

"You've done this before." Julienne mused as he nodded, taking more from the bowl and applying it to the sides.

"My mother loves to bake." He told her, "Much of my childhood was spent in the kitchen with her. She used to give us all jobs to do." He smiled warmly at the memory and Julienne thought he had never looked more handsome than he did now. "I remember for my sixth birthday, Mother let us help her…" He finished, licking the excess off of his finger and offering the spatula to Julienne. "I remember Mother gave us the spoons to lick the batter when she was done mixing it and Rose gave me her spoon since it was my birthday…" He stopped suddenly, looking at Julienne with a hint of panic and pain on his face. She could see the six year old boy there in his eyes. Reaching out, she covered his hand with hers.

"It's all right, Simon. You don't have to talk about it. You don't ever have to if you don't want to." She assured him. A look of gratitude filled his light eyes. They stared at each other a long moment. Silently, Simon took her hand and led her from the room up the stairs to her bedroom. Without a word, he locked the door and pulled her into his arms.

"I've neglected you." He whispered in realization. She had no response and all she could do was stare at him as his lips descended to meet hers. She felt a lump rise in her throat from the extreme relief she felt. Simon's soft, wandering mouth moved to the side of her neck, barely ghosting his lips over the skin and causing gooseflesh to rise all over her body.

She let her head fall back into his large, cradling hand as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts through her clothing. He returned to kiss her lips as his nimble fingers unfastened the bodice of her dress and untied her sash. The garment loosened and he pushed it down over her hips until it pooled at her feet and she was left in her underclothes. He looked down at her with reverence, taking in the sight of her and drawing in a long breath.

Taking her by the waist, he began to unhook the front of the corset and tossed it aside, yanking up the hem of her chemise. Simon practically ripped her drawers off but decided to leave the stockings and garters on, guiding her toward the large bed as he loosened his collar. Julienne began to unbutton his shirt, unable to help herself as she kissed each bit of his chest that she revealed. He let out a sound between a moan and a growl. He removed his shirt and she began to work on his pants.

"Not so fast, little wife." He soothed, kissing her forehead. "We have time." She turned her eyes up to meet his. They were warmer than she had ever seen them. He removed his trousers along with his shoes and socks and moved beside her, pulling her over him. Gently, he brought her down and leaned up brush her nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over the softness of it. She felt her body tense in pleasure. One of his hands ran over her smooth bare bottom.

"You are so lovely." He murmured, moving his other hand over her throat and feeling her lips with the tips of his fingers. Sitting up with her straddling his lap, he kissed her exposed throat. She replied with a purring moan as his hand traveled between her legs and his thumb expertly began to work the most sensitive part of her. She could feel the silky hardness of him beneath her bottom as she wriggled for more contact. He hissed through his teeth as she felt her release coiling in the pit of her stomach.

To her dismay, he abandoned her with his hand and lifted her bottom easily, bringing her back down onto him, impaling her to the hilt. A cry of ecstasy left her as his hands guided her to move on him. The close contact of this position was perfectly manipulative to her body as her breasts brushed over his chest. He dropped his head to her shoulder, pressing soft kisses there. In her pleasure, she leaned back and he moved his attention to her breasts, teasing them mercilessly with his hands and mouth as they moved together.

He ground his hips upward, thrusting into her with purpose. A primal sound came from him as he lifted her again and put her on her back, holding her legs wide apart. He paused at her entrance, watching her face. Julienne writhed in agony, staring up at him.

"Please Simon…" She panted, wanting him to finish what he'd started. A small, evil grin came to his face as she felt his sex brush against her stimulated bud.

"Is this what you want?" He asked, running the tip of it along the wet crevice of her body. She arched toward him. Leaning over her, he whispered, meeting her eyes with his sparkling pale ones. "I want you to say something for me…" He whispered, half entering her and then withdrawing completely. She whimpered, nodding. "Say you're mine…" He paused to lick one of her breasts. "Say it."

"I'm yours!" She cried, begging him, trying to reach to pull him in. "Please…"

"I don't know if I should…" He teased, but an urge she'd never felt before came over her and as he began to press against her opening, she thrust her hips forward, pulling him in completely, wrapping her legs around his waist and bottom. Unable to control himself any longer, he drove into her with furious thrusts, bringing them both over the edge within seconds.

Still buried within her, he rolled onto his back, bringing her to lay over him. Finding courage within herself, she finally found the strength to speak.

"Simon?"

"Mmm?" He asked, and when she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed.

"Do you think you could sleep in my bed tonight?" She asked, hoping she didn't sound too desperate.

"If you want." He agreed, stroking her dark hair.

"I do." She nodded. "And if you…if you want to have other women…I won't stop you."

This got his attention. His eyes opened and he leaned up on his elbows.

"What?"

"I said, if you want to have affairs, I won't stop you. I know that you were forced into this." She felt a new lump rise in her throat, wishing she could take it back. Simon looked slightly enraged.

"Why would you even think that?" He asked, sitting completely up and covering her with the bed sheet.

"Well…you…don't spend evenings at home, I just assumed-"

"You assume too much, Julienne Reynolds." He scolded angrily. "When I took those vows, I intended to keep them. I was raised better than that."

"Well, why don't you like to spend time with me?" She blurted, feeling the hot tears well up in her eyes. He stopped, watching her with an expression of alarm.

"Because I like you _too_ much!" He cried, looking away. "I can't explain it, but I'm terrified to get too close to you. I _do_ like you, Julienne. I'm dangerously close to needing you. I _have _to keep my distance, don't you see?"

"But why?" She asked, wounded.

"Because I don't want to lose you." He finally said in a quieter tone. She sat back, understanding suddenly.

"Simon, I'm not Rose. There is nothing you could have done…you were a child." She knew she was treading on thin ice speaking of Rose, but it had to be said. "It wasn't your fault, and I'm not going anywhere. Ever." Simon turned to look at her and she could see his eyes were red around the edges.

"I'm sorry." He said, falling to his knees and putting his head in her lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. Unsure of what to do to comfort him, Julienne settled for running her fingers through his thick blond hair. "I'll do anything to make it up to you…I'll buy you a new carriage…horses…dogs…diamonds. Just please don't leave me, Julie."

"I'm staying right here." She assured him. "Let's start over, shall we? Why don't you attend Lord Covington's musicale with me tonight?" Looking up at her, he nodded.

"I would like that."

* * *

"This is becoming a regular occurrence, you buying me lunch." Roger laughed as he sat at a restaurant once again with Smythe, whom he had become friends with in the past weeks.

"Yes well, it is very rare that you find such a dependable lawyer. I intend to keep you around, Tiernay." Smythe replied. "So tell me about growing up in Persia."

"It wasn't much different than growing up here really. We spent summers here in France." Roger explained. "My uncle, Nadir, has a close friend who lives here. I'm good friends with his children. My mother died giving birth to me. Nadir said he thought she died of a broken heart. There was an altercation with my father's family and my father ended up on the wrong side of a gun."

"How much do you know about your father's family?" Smythe inquired curiously, sipping his wine.

"I know that they hold an Anglo-Irish Earldom and that I'm technically the heir." Roger cringed. "If they knew I was alive…they would probably have someone come after me."

Smythe chuckled mirthlessly.

"No doubt. The aristocracy is a nasty business, Roger. But if the title were offered to you…out of curiosity, would you take it?" He asked, surprising Roger.

"I hadn't considered." Roger replied. "Of course I would take it if they wanted me to have it. I don't have any family left. I might as well take the only tie I have left to my father."

"And you have intentions to marry?" Smythe went on. Roger shrugged, not wanting to revisit the thought. Esme and he had seen each other regularly, hiding their affections from her family. Roger was not sure how Destler would react when he found out that Nadir's nephew had designs on his youngest daughter, whom he had known from childhood.

"It's complicated." Roger admitted and Smythe nodded.

"So there is a girl."

"Yes, Esme." Roger thought of her shining red hair and her bright blue eyes.

"It's one of your uncle's friend's daughters isn't it?" Smythe guessed. Roger nodded. "Are you going to marry her?"

"I think I'm meant to." Roger said with a nod. "You see, in Persia, we believe all sorts of things. A fortune teller once foretold that I would love a girl with hair the exact color of the sunrise."

"And Esme has that color hair." Smythe finished for him.

"Precisely." Roger confirmed. "And I always have felt a strong connection to her."

"Marry her, then." Smythe said. "As soon as possible. If you know you're supposed to be with her…don't wait. Life is short, Tiernay." His blue eyes darkened. "Believe me, I know."


	12. Making Progress

Matilda Dantein, Lady Covington's end of spring musicale was crowded to the brim of her vast ballroom. Tillie, as her husband affectionately called her, was known for the amazing array of foods she put on her buffet table. In fact, she cooked much of it herself, which was one reason why Simon and James had always made it a point to attend.

This year was different for Simon, however, because he was not only coming from the creamed salmon or the slightly pink roast beef. He was now married to a woman of stunning beauty. Julienne had an uncanny knack for choosing clothes that drove him wild for her. Or maybe, he was simply wild for her. Tonight, she wore an elegant gown of deep blue silk with a lace overlay and just the slightest view of her bosom at the bow of her neckline. Her dark hair had been pulled back and pinned at her crown in glossy perfection. How Simon had not been lusting for her all these years, he was unsure. She was exactly the sort of woman he desired. Tall, curving and dark haired. Even more tempting was something that was not visible to the naked eye. Julienne had a dry sense of humor and a keen intelligence that made for very interesting conversations between the two of them.

Or it would have, had he allowed himself more time with her. This afternoon, Julienne had challenged him, scolded him, laughed with him and made him weak with lust for her. He could not believe what an idiot he'd been these past few weeks, practically ignoring her but for their carnal activities. And though she trusted him wholeheartedly in bed, she'd admitted that he'd made her suspect him of adultery after only two weeks of marriage. The truth was, he had been spending nights at the cemetery or drinking with James. Deep down, he'd almost hoped she did wonder if he was with another woman. It was his stubborn way of making her pay for trapping him into a marriage. The notion, he knew, was stupid and childish and as far from the truth as possible. Simon knew his own flaws. And he knew he couldn't admit when he was wrong, so he tended to blame others. But after spending one afternoon with his wife, he'd realized how wrong he'd been. How, if he would have given her one chance, he might have actually liked being married to her.

Simon was afraid to give in to her completely. Perhaps it was some lingering stubbornness. Or maybe, it was fear. Simon was horribly protective of Anna and Grace and even his own mother to the point where it was painful. He'd lost Rose, and even though he could hardly remember her little face, her voice, her smell, he remembered the pain of losing her perfectly.. He remembered climbing the tree and hearing Rose's giggles just below him. When her laughter stopped, he'd looked down and saw her tiny body on the ground, bent unnaturally. That sight still haunted him every minute of every day. It was one of the reasons that Simon hardly ever slept through the night.

"Oh dear." Julienne said, interrupting his thoughts. "Lillian is here with Mercer." She explained, meeting his eyes. Looking past her, Simon scanned the throngs of people for Westcliff, knowing he was undoubtedly fuming somewhere in this very room. Sure enough, he was slouched against the wall, watching Mercer Arnott sidle up to Lillian Holden like the snake he was.

"Come on." Simon said grimly, taking his wife by the hand and pulling her toward James. Westcliff's eyes showed some semblance of recognition at the sight of them, but he remained sulking.

"Hello, James." Julienne said, moving forward to kiss Westcliff sweetly on the cheek. Simon felt a bizarre pang of jealousy spark inside him as he saw his wife's lips touch his best friend's cheek. A sigh left Julienne as she looked at her cousin and Arnott. Simon noted that Lillian's eyes kept drifting over to James and then darting away again, obviously in the hopes that she would not get caught.

"I can't believe she's being civil to him." Julienne murmured in disgust.

"It's hideous." Another voice agreed. Simon turned to see Lillian's sister, Jane, standing there. "She was doing so well, and then _he_ showed up trying to win her back! Papa is furious." Jane told Julienne, who nodded in agreement. "Lucy and I have been spending days with her, telling her to let him go…but she's so afraid. All she does is lock herself up in her room and cry." Jane's eyes flickered over to James. "She doesn't really love Mercer. We all know that."

Westcliff made no acknowledgment of Jane's words, but Simon noticed that the ticking in his friend's jaw had ceased, which meant one of two things. He had given up…or he was planning something.

"Excuse me, Reynolds…I'm just going to leave. I'm not up to this." James said, kissing Julienne's hand and walking toward the exit.. Simon cursed under his breath. It was option two.

"He's up to something." He said to his wife, who was still watching Lillian with a curious expression.

"Why would she take him back?" She asked, more to herself. "Interesting…" When she turned around, her blue eyes were aglow. "Dance with me, Simon." She said, holding her hand out to him. He followed willingly, grinning at the stares the two of them got now that they were in public together as a married couple.

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

Lillian had imagined this scenario a thousand times since Merce had broken it off with her. He would come to take her back into his arms and they would dance the night away together, even closer. The reality, however, was somewhat underwhelming. Mercer was jabbering on about some merger that his company was going to take, while Lillian pretended to listen and instead tried desperately to find James again. He'd disappeared some time before.

"I think, once we have the name and the prestige, our little firm could become the most successful in France." Merce was saying. Lillian looked up at him and noticed, with the slightest of surprised that his light hair was receding. He had always seemed to her, the epitome of handsome, but since he'd returned, she could not stop herself from seeing his flaws. His eyes were very small and close together. He had rather large ears and to her horror, she had even noticed one day that when he had a beard, it was almost the same color as his skin.

"Wouldn't you like to live in Italy?" He was asking. Lillian shrugged, unsure of how to answer.

"I don't see any reason to move away from Paris." She said quietly. "It's our home." Giving her a patronizing look, he patted her hand as if she were a very young, very stupid child.

"Oh, sweetheart…I forget how unworldly you are. There are so many more opportunities in Italy for us. And the people there are more cultured."

"I like the people of Paris." Lillian protested as a strange new need to negate anything he said came over her. "I like the culture _here._"

"We'll talk about it later." He replied, sounding a bit more than irritated. "When we're married—"

"Mercer," She interrupted, feeling uncharitable.. "I never said I would marry you."

"But you said you had forgiven me."

"I said I was unsure if I _could_ forgive you." She corrected, feeling heat turn her cheeks pink.

"But I thought—" He began and she glared at him, finally allowing her feelings to come to the surface.

"That's the problem, Merce!" She cried, knowing they were making a scene. "You always _assume_. You assume I want to move to Italy…you assume that I like lamb." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You _assume_ that I'll sleep with you before marriage."

"You led me on!" Mercer insisted with a hiss. Lillian let out a rueful laugh.

"Oh _please!_" She whispered back, so that nobody noticed they were arguing. "You tried to put my hand in your pants!" Shaking her head, tears burned her eyes and blurred her vision. "James was right."

"Of course he would turn you against me. Lillian, he wants you for himself!" Mercer insisted. Lillian's eyes blazed.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I want him too?" She asked cruelly. "You aren't the only man in the universe, Mercer. After you left me…who do you think comforted me? He doesn't just want me for himself…James wants to marry me. And he doesn't _assume_ anything about me." She stopped, seeing Mercer's look of disgust.

"Maybe I was right to break it off with you." He said in a quiet, calculating voice. "Perhaps deep down, I knew that you would never be suitable for me."

"Well, maybe it worked out for the best then." Lillian snapped, feeling her voice waver. "We have absolutely nothing in common."

"Five years is a long time…" He said in a new, different voice. She realized with a jolt of horror that he was changing tactics. "Do you really want to throw away five years?" She sighed, shrugging.

"I don't know, Mercer!" She said tiredly. "I am confused." A deep sigh left her. "Why don't you just take me home?" She asked. "We're both overwhelmed right now."

Mercer nodded, offering her his arm.

"You're right." Merce said, guiding her toward the door. "I will come to visit tomorrow afternoon." He promised.

* * *

Roger watched as Esme accepted a dance with a young man and walked out onto the floor with him. He did not feel the normal onset of panic at seeing her with another man, because tonight, he had come with purpose. He was not going to propose yet, but he was going to bring up the subject. Smythe's advice had gotten the better of him and he knew that he could very well become an Earl. If he did, by God's grace, inherit the title and the estate, he would need a good wife. The thought of marrying any girl besides Esme cheapened the idea of marriage for him. The fortune teller had been right. As the days passed, he could see the path that had been chosen for him so clearly, and it ended with Esme.

Gathering his courage, he thought his uncle would have been quite proud of him as he walked out onto the dance floor and tapped Esme's companion on the shoulder, signaling that he was cutting in. Slight put out, the young man bowed and walked away as Roger replaced him, pulling Esme close than was necessary for the slow waltz. Her eyes were clear and she smiled brightly at him.

"You know, things could be a lot easier if you just proposed already." She joked. "There wouldn't be any more suitors."

"Well, I'm not proposing yet, but I am willing to discuss the possibility." He said, giving her his most charming smile. She rolled her eyes, seeing right through him.

"You're trying to woo me? Roger, I've always been yours." She laughed as he turned her. "What happened?"

"I've just been thinking. Every event that has happened in my life has led me to you. The fortune teller, my uncle's ties to your father, moving here…it all leads to you. And I was just thinking…maybe I should stop ignoring the signs and just let it happen." He smiled at her, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "I'm not asking you to marry me right now. I just want you to know that I'm open to the idea." Roger could not help but feel a thrill at the surprised look on her face.

"What brought this on?" She asked as the song ended. He brought her to the side.

"Fate." He said with a chuckle. "I'm going to start courting you." He added. "Tomorrow. Your father already gave me permission."

"You spoke to Dad about this?" Esme asked in disbelief. Roger turned to look at Destler, who was speaking animatedly with his wife and The Comte and Comtesse de Chagny.

"He told me he's been expecting this for years." Roger laughed.

* * *

Lillian's eyes shot open in the darkness when she heard a thud. Sitting bolt upright in her bed, she reached for something to defend herself with and settled on the heavy candle stick. As the shadows shifted in her room, she realized she was not alone and bounded out of the bed at her intruder. He caught her wrist easily and pried the candle stick away from her, putting his hand over her mouth to silence her.

"It's me." James's voice said in the darkness. Her body relaxed in staggering relief as she slumped against him.

"How _dare_ you sneak into my room?" She hissed, allowing him to lift her up and set her back on her bed. "You scared the living hell out of me."

"I didn't mean to." He assured her, sitting beside her.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Lillian asked suddenly, wondering why he was out in the middle of the night.

"I told you once that I was going to have you and no one was going to muck it up again. Remember?" He asked, sounding oddly confident. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Vaguely…"

"Well, I meant it." He said. "I'm not letting you go without a fight." She didn't have a chance to argue, because he had claimed her mouth in a hot, searing kiss unlike any they'd shared before. A sob of surprising relief remained hitched in her throat. Deep down, she had been praying for him to come for her. He was moving with purpose and to her own shock, she was responding. Her hands grasped his clothing, holding him closer to her. He moved away from her lips and let his mouth move along the side of her pale neck. The muffled sound of his groan came from against her skin as she pulled him back with her and began to fumble with the buttons of his partially open shirt. James stopped dead and pulled away, looking down at her with an expression of mild alarm on his face.

"Lillian, I didn't come here to bed you…" He told her, taking her hand into his. "You know I would never expect that of you." Warmth filled her as she took his face into her hands, feeling the wonderfully bristly texture of his newly growing beard.

"I know." She smiled up at him, rising onto her knees. "That's why I want you to."

"You're sure?" He asked carefully, holding her just far enough so that they could see each other's faces. She only nodded and once again, began undressing him. Every inch of him that she revealed set her off more and she found herself moving to run her lips over the feverish, silky skin. "We have to be quiet." He said, suppressing a groan as her hands slid inside the opened shirt and began to smooth over his body.

"_I'm_ being quiet." Lillian grinned, flicking her tongue over the hollow of his masculine throat. "I never imagined how much I would like seeing you without clothes." She murmured against his body. Before she could do anything else, he took her by the waist and easily set her on her back, reaching down for the hem of her modest nightgown. Discarding his shirt, he bent over her naked form and stared at her in a momentary state of shock. "What's the matter?" She asked, self consciously, moving her arms up to cover herself. Gently, he stopped her.

"I've imagined you this way a thousand times over in my mind, but nothing could ever compare to how beautiful you are right now." His voice sounded odd, as if he had something caught in his throat. Lillian drew one hand up to touch his cheek and his head turned so that he could kiss her palm. He raked his eyes over her for one more moment before leaning down over her prone body and pressing his lips to her shoulder. The way his eyes were closed and how his lips barely touched her body, but sent thrills all throughout her was so very different from how Merce had been with her. James seemed to worship all of her, while Mercer had really only been interested in two areas.

Merce had always grabbed for her breasts straight away and when he was done with them, it was her behind. Never had she known that you could be filled with sensation just by having someone kiss your shoulder. James seemed to know exactly what sort of pressure to use to coax her into arousal while her former fiancé had always been in a hurry. Always urgent, never gentle.

When James's teasing mouth did reach her breasts, he did not squeeze them as she had thought he might. Instead, he used only the tips of his fingers to brush over the sensitive peaks and she watched as his tongue swirled around one taut nipple. The area between her legs tingled watching this and then James stopped with his gentle lapping of her breast and blew gently on the pink nub. Lillian watched in wonder as it hardened into a puckered point and was filled once again with sensation as he repeated it on the other. Distantly, she heard the small mewls that left her mouth while he played with her. His hand moved downward, over the flat plane of her stomach to the crevice that lay between her legs, nestled beneath the dark curls there. She felt the exploring tip of his finger run lightly over the sensitive flesh there until he brushed over something that made her jolt upward.

"Too sensitive still." He said softly, pressing a kiss to her navel and lifted his finger to his mouth.

"James, what-?" Her question died off; however, because she watched in fascination as his tongue moved from his parted lips and wet his finger. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen and she felt it between her thighs. "Oh…" She sighed, falling back onto the mattress as his now wet finger stroked all around but never touched her sensitive bud.

"You like that." He whispered, moving up to kiss her parted lips. Her only response was a drawn out moan. "You'll like this even more." She felt him part her legs and the sensation of his finger moving around her sex was replaced with a warm, silken feeling moving over her. Opening her eyes, she saw him crouched between her legs with his face against her and realized he was licking her feminine flesh!

James moved his hands lovingly over her body, brushing over her breasts and her hips and even running them down to caress her feet. She felt herself being taken higher and higher, reaching for something. Lillian could feel the vague pulsations starting when he pulled away from her. Abandoned, she stared up at him in panic. He had not let her finish and she was still yearning, still needing him there.

"Don't stop…" She cried drunkenly. His eyes were dark with lust as he shook his head and crawled into the bed beside.

"No darling…I'm not going to stop. I just had to get you ready for me. Now be a good girl and open for me. This first part will hurt." He kissed her lips quickly and moved over her, bracing himself on his elbows so as not to crush her beneath him.

"Just do it." She managed to say through chattering teeth. She could feel him pressing at her opening and her eyes widened as she felt the sharp pain when he pushed through her barrier. She felt him tremble with the labor of his breathing as he struggled to remain still inside her. Knowing he was in agony, she arched upward as the stinging subsided and encouraged him to go on. James began to kiss her with the urgency of a man starved as his hips began to move him within her. It hurt for a few moments until his hand drifted between them and began to toy with her again. A few moments later, she was panting and meeting his thrusts equally enraptured.

Something deep within her started to build and as he bent to kiss her throat, it burst forward, bringing her into a state of blinding ecstasy. Almost immediately, his body began to relax as she felt him pulsating, buried inside her. They fell to the side, clutching each other. James withdrew and pulled her tight against his chest.

"I can't stay all night." He said when he'd caught his breath. Lazily, his fingers brushed through her hair. "But you need to know, Lily, I'm not going anywhere. You can't change your mind now."

"I never could." She replied, smiling as he caught her hand in his. "This time, when Mercer was back, it wasn't like it was before. I don't…I couldn't…it's you." She met his eyes. "It's been you for a long time now."

"Does this mean you're going to marry me?" He asked with a tired grin. Lillian nodded.

"God knows we're probably going to murder each other, but yes, I will marry you." Gently, he brought her face up to meet his and placed a long, slow kiss on her lips.

"Go to sleep." He murmured. "I'll watch over you."

* * *

"It's here! It's here!" Giselle Holden flung herself into the room where her sisters and brothers were taking their breakfast. "The newest issue of _Evanna's Secret!_" Lucy and Nora flew out of their chairs, but surprisingly, their sister did not. In fact, Lillian seemed to not even have heard. Her hazel eyes were fixed dreamily out the window while she gingerly held her cup of tea. Giselle had never seen her oldest sister so tranquil. It was a nice change from seeing her distressed.

"Lil." Giselle said again, waving the paper in the air. Her sister seemed to come out of whatever reverie she had been in and met her eyes. Giselle stared at her. Something was different about Lillian this morning. She was _too_ serene. It had never been in Lillian's nature to be content. She had always been the one to fret and frown when others could brush things off. "_Evanna's Secret._" She said again, watching Lillian nod.

"I heard you, Giselle." She murmured calmly, turning to look back out the window again. "I'll read it later. You three can go ahead first." The three sisters stared at Lillian along with their younger brothers, Marcus and Thomas.

"She's lost it." Seventeen year old Marcus said in his newly acquired man's voice.

"Where is Maman?" Asked twelve year old Thomas, who was not interested in anything but where the sugar was for his cereal.

"She and Papa were meeting with someone this morning." Nora replied, agitated as she tried to read over Lucy's shoulder. "It was sort of sudden."

Giselle snatched the paper out of Lucy's hand.

"I brought it in, so I should get to read it first." She protested as Lucy snatched it back.

"_I'm _getting married tomorrow, so I am going to read it first. I am older than you." Lucy added, sticking her tongue out at Giselle.

"Oh very mature." Giselle retorted, looking to her twin, who had an evil glint in her blue eyes. Reaching quickly around their sister, she grabbed the paper and tossed it to Giselle, and they both made a run for it, barricading themselves in their mother's parlor and putting their heads close together to read.

"_I never knew that one place could smell so lovely." Evanna said, walking beside Lord Davenport as they made their way back from the greenhouse. _

"_I'll admit, that plants, flowers in particular are a passion of mine." He chuckled. Evanna looked up at his profile, admiring the tanned skin of his handsome face. His hair was a dark, chocolate brown color and it matched the warm brown of his eyes. He had very full lips for a man, and Evanna couldn't help thinking about what it may be like to kiss him. She inwardly scolded herself for thinking such things. Lord Davenport was kind, but there could never be a future for them. _

_She was his servant, not to mention, carrying the child of a married man. She was lower than a prostitute even. Lord Davenport would have to marry a woman of exceptional breeding and culture. She would be tall and slender and know exactly what to say all the time. She would suit his every need. _

_The thought of watching Lord Davenport marry another woman made Evanna's heart hurt. Realistically, she knew she could never have him, but her heart wanted him so badly. A stray tear left the corner of her eye as she realized she would have to leave after the baby was born. It would be too painful to watch as he went on to have his own children. _

"_Evanna, are you crying?" Lord Davenport asked, drawing out his handkerchief from his pocket. She shook her head, trying to turn her face away to hide it. He caught her chin in his hand and stared down into her face. "Aren't you happy?" _

"_Oh, yes…" She nodded. "I never dreamed I could love living here so much. And you have been so very kind, my lord." _

"_David." He corrected, surprising her. "Call me David." _

"_David." She tried his name on her lips. Something came over him then, she saw it. His eyes softened and he turned to face her fully and moved closer to her. As she watched his head lower, she knew he was going to kiss her! Butterflies swarmed inside her as her heart began to beat against her chest. _

"_My lord!" The housekeeper called. "There is a man here to see Evanna." _

"_Who?" _

"_A Monsieur Teegan." She explained apologetically. _

"_Jack." Evanna whispered. David took her hand and led her inside, to where Jack was standing in the kitchen. His eyebrow rose at their clasped hands. _

"_What are you doing here?" David asked harshly. Ignoring the Duke, Jack moved to fall to his knees at Evanna's feet. _

"_I've come to take you away, Vannie." He said. "I've left her. You and I and the baby can be a real family now." _

"_You want to marry me?" Evanna asked in disbelief. Jack nodded, taking her hands in his. _

"_You're better than this, Vannie. You don't need to be a servant girl. You should be the wife of an accountant. With your own house and carriage. Our child should be educated." _

"_Evanna, you can't be thinking of going back to him…" Lord Davenport said, staring at her. All the thoughts of watching him marry that perfect woman who he would make his Duchess, and them having their first son, a boy named David for his father, came back to her with painful clarity. She could not stay and watch while she ached every moment for him to look at her. To kiss her. While she wished it was his baby she carried and not Jack Teegan's. So she did what she must to protect her heart. _

"_David, he's the father of my child." Evanna said, making Jack give her a suspicious look. "I have to go." _

"_Answer me this." David said, imploring her. "Will you be happy with him?" _

'_No.' Her mind said viciously. _

"_Yes." She replied, managing a small smile. "I love him." For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of pain in the Duke's eyes, but it was gone in an instant. _

"_Then I will not stop you." His eyes were sad, but he smiled at her. "I shall give you a severance pay along with a dowry for your new husband to be. He may pick it up once you are married." _

"_You aren't angry then?" Evanna asked, leaving Jack to go to Lord Davenport. _

"_No. Not angry." He assured her. They stared at each other a long moment before he patted her shoulder and sighed. "I'll have your things packed immediately. I have some business to attend to." _

_Evanna watched him disappear through the door, feeling her heart break with every beat. Jack's hands came to rest on her shoulders and she felt a shudder move through her body. _

_

* * *

  
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**I'm really enjoying _Evanna's Secret._ It's going to play a huge part in upcoming events. Thanks, as always for reading. Reviews are highly accepted and appreciated!!!!! Thanks for being patient with me!  
**

**Sydnee**


	13. The Backlash

"Lillian, we would like you to come up to the study, please dear." Lillian's mother said, poking her head into the breakfast room. Her sister Lucy looked up nosily and gave their mother a questioning look. Nodding complacently, Lillian rose and patted Thomas's dark head before following her mother up the stairs and into the room where her father and James stood together, chatting pleasantly. She ignored the thrill that ran through her body at the memory of the previous night's events. James met her eyes and gave her a quick, polite nod, but his eyes betrayed his coolness. She could see that he was acutely aware of her presence and a slight blush had reddened his cheeks.

"Lillian, my love." Dag Holden said with a cautious smile, stepping around the desk to put an encouraging arm around his oldest child. "James has asked your mother and I for our blessing to marry you."

"If she'll have me." James remedied quickly, giving her father an honest grin. Papa nodded in agreement.

"Of course." He allowed, turning to look down at Lillian. "I know you are confused about Mercer…and this entire mess, but I think—"

"Yes." Lillian interrupted her father, ignoring her mother's look of utter shock. "I'll marry you, James."

"You will?" Dag asked in surprise. Lillian nodded, a smile burgeoning on her face. A thrill of excitement made her insides flutter as she met James's eyes. The pale blue of his eyes sparkled with happiness and warmth and she knew she had made the right decision. Her entire body relaxed in relief.

"I've made my decision, and I realized that Mercer and I just don't suit." She explained. Her mother came to her, taking her hand excitedly and beaming at her future son-in-law.

"You don't know how relieved your father and I are to hear you say that. I can't say I am very fond of somebody who abandoned you and then came back as if nothing happened." Fern told her.

"I have no ill feelings for Mercer." Lillian assured her parents. "I just don't want to marry him any more." James nodded, smiling at her and reassuring her again. "And, I don't want to wait very long. I, for one, am against long engagements." She added, watching as James chuckled and her parents joined in.

"I agree." James said, moving closer to Lillian and grinning down at her. "The sooner, the better." Fern nodded in agreement, leaving Lillian's side to walk to the desk to check her calendar.

"We can have an official engagement party this weekend," Fern said, thumbing through the date book, "and then you two can marry in…a month?"

"That would be ideal." Lillian agreed, meeting James's eyes, though he looked as if he would prefer it to be sooner still. They both knew that they would simply have to be patient. Even if she had become pregnant the previous night, one month wouldn't raise eyebrows. It would work out fine.

"Now James," Fern went on, "Of course we want to have your parents for dinner tonight so that we can discuss plans and such."

"Of course." James agreed, taking Lillian's hand.

"Have you thought of where you two will live?" Lillian's father asked pleasantly, folding his arms.

"Paris, of course." James replied and Lillian felt every muscle in her body fill with relief. "I have my own home, so naturally we will start out there, but should Lillian decide she does not like the house, I will arrange for us to move."

No sooner had her parents arranged for James and his family to come for dinner that night when the sound of the butler pleading with an arguing male voice came into the room accompanied by footsteps. Panic filled Lillian.

Mercer.

In her happiness, she had forgotten about him telling her that he would visit this very afternoon. She had barely begun to process this when her former fiancé bounded into the study, looking slightly furious. His eyes flitted around the room, lingering on James momentarily.

"What is this? Lillian, what is going on here?" Mercer demanded, turning to look at her. She tensed.

"Mercer, I—" Faltering, she was unsure of how to tell him without hurting him. Though he was not the one for her, she hated the thought of breaking someone's heart. Sighing, she shook her head and forced herself to look into his eyes. "I can't marry you, Merce."

"Can't…?" Mercer's eyes slowly left her to look back at James. Cold realization came to darken the face she had once loved so well. "Oh. I see."

"I'm sorry." She replied quietly, desperate to break the silence. "But I think you were right to break things off. We would never suit."

"Wouldn't we?" He asked, smiling at her. She did not like the bitterness in his tone.

"I never meant to hurt you." Lillian pleaded, blinking back tears of sudden guilt that had come into her eyes.

"Five years." Mercer sighed. Thankfully, Lillian's parents had faded to the corner of the room and were speaking in hushed voices to one another. James looked unsure of what to do, opting for leaning against the desk. "And you're going to marry _him_?"

"I am." Lillian nodded. "I love him." A strange calm had come over Mercer and it was a bit unnerving to watch. He was almost serene. Contemplative.

"And you don't love me?" He asked just above a whisper.

"Not in the way you want." She said as a tear escaped from her eye. "Oh, Merce…I _do _love you…but I don't love you in that way anymore. Things are different now. And deep down, I think it's always been James for me. Since we were children."

Mercer stared at her a long moment, and the room was terribly silent. Nobody moved. Lillian was afraid to breathe. His sigh broke the quiet as he nodded, accepting. Without a word, he moved forward and took her hand in his, kissing the back of her hand quickly. She studied him as he spoke, with a trained eye and had the fleeting thought that he was not angry enough. He was perfectly collected. A man in love would have been driven to madness…would have reacted as James had when Mercer first returned. It unsettled her to say the least, but perhaps he was holding it in. Or perhaps, he simply did not care for her.

"Take care, Lillian. I am happy for you." Looking at James, he nodded at him. "Be good to her."

"I will." James agreed, shaking his hand. Lillian noticed as James watched him suspiciously when he left the way he'd come in. Nobody spoke until they heard the front door below shut. Lillian felt bad for Mercer, but she didn't feel as guilty as she thought she would.

"I should go downstairs and start preparing everyone to ready the house for dinner tonight." Fern said, breaking the silence with her soft voice. Standing on her toes, she kissed Dag quickly before smiling at her daughter and leaving the room. Dag moved around the desk and began to file through things.

"I should probably go tell my parents that I'm engaged." James laughed.

"I'll come too." Lillian said, linking her arm through his. "Is that all right with you, Papa?"

"Absolutely, pet." Dag agreed, winking at her. "It's good to see you smile again, Lily."

* * *

James could hardly believe he was sitting in a carriage beside Lillian Holden on their way to inform his parents that they were getting married. He had envisioned this scenario a thousand times over the past years, but never had he imagined that he would feel this happy. He felt as if he could break down and weep for joy at any moment. Lillian had not let go of his hand since they had walked out the door together and he'd helped her into his carriage.

He could not imagine what his mother and father were going to say when they walked through the door together, but he couldn't wait to find out. James had become very impatient very fast. He knew a month was an extremely short engagement, but he'd have rather carried Lily off on his horse and married her this very evening. They had spent enough time waiting, and he was ready to get on with their lives.

"What are you thinking James Sebastian Westcliff?" Lily asked, peering up at him through the dark fan of her silky eyelashes. He smiled, squeezing her slender hand in his.

"I'm so deliriously happy; I don't know what to think." He replied easily, letting go of her hand long enough to pull her close against his side and nuzzle his face into her dark hair. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. James felt her arms wrap around his middle as she rested her cheek just under his chin.

The carriage came to a halt just outside his mother and father's home and he felt a twinge of anticipation at their reaction. To James's surprise, his father was standing on the steps in the afternoon sunlight. His golden hair streaked with silver gleamed in the midday sun. Not a moment later, his mother joined her husband and stopped when she saw the carriage. James emerged first, grinning at both of them before turning and reaching out his hand for Lily to take. He brought her down to her feet easily and they both turned toward his parents, who had obviously come outside when they heard them pull up.

"James…" Roxana Westcliff began, trailing off when she saw Lillian. "Lillian, sweetheart." James shook his father's hand first before moving to kiss his mother's amber cheek. She was half Persian and had always been a woman of exotic beauty. Her dark hair was still silky like an inky curtain. Her father had been an archaeologist and had met her mother in Persia on one of his trips. Grandfather Sebastian had told James and Darya the story numerous times. Their Grandmother, Pari, had died when Roxana was just a girl and Sebastian had raised her on his own. Sebastian claimed that Roxana was the exact image of her own mother.

James and Darya, though a quarter Persian, looked very nondescript. Neither of them had inherited the amber skin of their mother, though both of them had her dark hair. James's hair, however, curled and was virtually untamable, while Darya had smooth, glossy hair. James had been blessed with his father's pale blue eyes, which were completely striking against the blue black of his hair and his fair skin.

"Mother, Pa…" James began. "I have asked Lily to marry me." He watched the surprise in his parents' eyes blossom. His mother glanced at his father, who had a wry grin on his face. "She said yes."

"That's wonderful, son!" Justin Westcliff said, moving to kiss Lillian on the cheek. "We're glad to have you, dear."

"You're finally getting married?" Roxana asked, dazed. James nodded, watching as happiness brightened her features and made her seem a young girl again. She gently took Lillian by the shoulders and pulled her into a warm embrace. "Oh, bless you sweet girl! Thank you!" Lily laughed, hugging his mother back.

"It's my pleasure." Lily replied, pulling back. "My parents would like to have you both over for dinner tonight. We're going to be married in a month."

James saw his father raise an eyebrow at him knowingly.

"She's waited long enough. We both agreed a short engagement is preferable." He assured him. "That's all."

"That's fine." His mother went on ecstatically, taking Lily's hand and pulling her into the house. "Come inside, you two. Tell us everything."

* * *

Roger stared desolately at the empty house he'd shared with his uncle for so many years. It was too quiet. Too dark. Since his uncle's death, he had kept the bedroom door shut and locked. It was too hard yet to go through Nadir's things. Erik, of course had offered, but Roger had declined as he was not ready to face the absence. Every night, Roger passed that closed door that was across from his own bedroom and he forced himself not to look at it.

Some nights, he couldn't even tolerate sleeping on the same floor and instead slept on one of the sofas in the sitting room downstairs. Roger immersed himself in work, in appointments and with Esme. He devoted time each day to visit her for at least an hour. If the pair of them had been close before, they were even more so now that he was openly courting her. Without Julienne's constant presence, they had time to take walks together and read together. He was content to walk beside her and listen while she chattered about everything from the weather to her visit with Emmy and the new twins.

Setting his jacket aside, he moved into the kitchen and looked through the pantry for something to eat. His housekeeper had put out a bowl of fruit and thankfully, there was a juicy red apple sitting there. Quickly, he sliced it and settled at the table with the work he had brought home with him. As usual, somebody needed him to review legal documents so that they didn't sign something that got them into trouble. The house was completely silent as the housekeeper had retired for the evening. Roger combed his thick black hair out of his eyes and pushed the document away in disgust. The small print was too much for his tired eyes to handle. Eating the last of his fruit, he took the paperwork into his study and began to pour over it, circling things he thought looked questionable. He had almost reach the end of it when he heard something. Looking up, he set aside the pen and rose, poking his head out of the study.

"Helene?" He called out to the housekeeper. She did not answer him and he knew that she was out for the evening. Shaking his head, he rubbed his eyes roughly and tried to wake himself up. Turning back toward his desk, he moved back toward his work when he heard it again. For a moment, he suspected he was going mad from exhaustion. This past week at work had been absolutely brutal, with any number of crooked businessmen needing legal council or relatives of a deceased person demanding their share of the will. It was tiring. Sitting down again, he looked back down at the small print of the paperwork and forced himself to keep his heavy eyelids open.

_If you should fail to honor any of these obligations, the corporation will have the right to a.) revoke your employment and/or b.) have you arrested. The circumstances involving—_

"Roger…" Roger looked up from his work, hearing his name voiced distinctly. Helene must not have left the house this evening. Standing up, he peered out the doorway of his study and noticed a light like candlelight coming from the second floor. Curious, he moved stealthily up the stairs and followed it, but when he reached the top, it was gone. Turning around, he searched again.

"Helene?" He asked again. No response came. He had decided to return to his work, when he noticed light pouring from underneath the bedroom door. He realized with a start, that it was the door to Nadir's room. How in the world could candlelight be coming from a locked room? Reaching into the pocket of his vest, he pulled out the key and unlocked the door, flinging it open.

A moment later, he found himself standing alone in the empty bedroom. A strangle lilac colored light filled the room, but he could see no source. The door closed on its own behind him and he felt a presence with him there. As a superstitious person, Roger had always believed in ghosts and paranormal occurrences, but he'd never experienced anything like it.

"Uncle?" He chanced, waiting for a response. Nothing. Moving to the perfectly made, undisturbed bed, he stared down at the pillow his uncle's head had once rested upon.

"He's not here." A female voice said from behind him. Whirling around, Roger fell to sit on the bed and found himself facing a girl who was probably a few years younger than himself. She was lovely, with dark skin and glowing dark eyes. Her black hair was pulled up in a purple satin ribbon and hung down her back in loose curls. He was not afraid of her.

"Can I help you? Are you lost?" He asked, taking pity on her. He was fascinated with the way she seemed to give off her own light. She shook her head.

"I'm here to help." She explained, moving to stand before him. "Roger, the answers you seek lie within this room."

"Answers? Who are you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. She stared calmly down at him.

"Don't you know me?" She asked, tilting her head. Roger was drawn in by her beauty. He squinted, trying to place her and a thought came into his head.

"Leila?" She nodded, smiling at him.

"Your uncle is very proud of you." Leila said, reaching out to brush his thick hair out of his face. Her touch felt like a warm breeze. "But you mourn too much. You need to sort through his things. You will find what you need. Don't be afraid."

"You're my mother?" Roger asked in amazement. Leila smiled at him.

"I've watched you for a very long time." She said. "I tried very hard to live for you…I loved you very much. I always will."

"Am I dreaming or is this real?" Roger asked, feeling fuzzy as she began to become blurred.

"Of course you're dreaming, Roger." Leila told him, touching his cheek. "But that doesn't make this any less real. You of all people should know. Go into the sunrise."

"Wait!" He cried, tried to hold onto her, but she vanished through his fingers as if he were trying to trap air in his palm. "Leila, wait!"

He awoke with a jolt, pushing straight out of his chair. Looking toward the corner of the room, he spotted the liquor cabinet.

"Monsieur Tiernay?" Helene said, poking her head into the room. "I heard you shouting. Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure, Helene." He said quietly, savoring the flavor of the burning whiskey as he came to terms with the fact that he had seen his mother for the first time ever in a dream. Checking the clock, he frowned. It was later already. What had seemed a short dream had lasted hours.

Roger was just about to pour himself another glass when there was a knock at the front door. Checking his watch again he shook his head.

"Nine o' clock." He read. Swiftly, he walked to the front door and opened it to a crowd of three smiling men. Charles Destler, Simon Reynolds and James Westcliff. They were all grinning like fools.

"Roger," Charles said, shaking his hand, "Come celebrate with us! Westcliff is marrying my cousin."

"Which one?" Roger asked with a slight smirk as he clapped James on the shoulder.

"Nice one, Tiernay." Simon grinned. "But we have to wrap this up before midnight or my

wife will have my head on a platter." Charles laughed.

"My sister already has you on a short leash, does she?" He quipped. James chuckled. "Just wait until you have children."

"Oh good _Lord_." Simon groaned. "Don't even tell me."

"Helene! I'm going out for a while. I'll be home later!" Roger called out, reaching for his jacket and shutting the door behind them.

* * *

Simon thought of Julienne, who was, at this very moment sleeping after a very raucous round of lovemaking earlier in the evening. The two hadn't even emerged for dinner, instead opting to eat in their bedroom. She'd been rather tired today, though he knew it was probably because she rose so early. Why, he had no idea, but she was always awake at least an hour before he got up and she had barricaded herself in her study. When she heard him waking, she emerged, usually with an ink stain or two. He wondered who she could be writing to and why. She wrote letters every day it seemed. Long letters. When he asked her about it, she said it was only her journal, but he wasn't so sure.

"To Lily and James!" Charles cried happily, bringing Simon back into the present. The four men clicked their glasses together.

"I've waited over a decade for you two to shape up and get together." Simon added, slapping James on the back.

"Too bad old Tris isn't in town for this." Charles said, turning his grinning face to Roger.

"So, Tiernay…I hear you've been courting my baby sister." Roger choked on his liquor, looking up at Charles in somewhat of a panic. Simon glanced at James who just seemed to be in a constant state of happiness and took this all in with a silent smile. Simon patted Roger's back to stop him choking.

"Thanks." Roger wheezed. Simon chuckled, taking a drink.

"Don't mention it."

"Is it true?" Charles pressed on, fully enjoying the discomfort he was causing their old friend. Roger had always been a quiet, contemplative type. He'd been with women, yes, but not notoriously and never had he courted someone openly. Somehow, Simon wasn't surprised when he learned it was Esme. The two had always had an affinity, an ease with one another.

"It's true." Roger nodded, sipping his drink.

"Good." Charles nodded, surprising them all. "I'm glad it's you and not someone I'd have to worry about."

"Who would have thought a year ago that the four of us would be sitting here, drinking a toast to Lily and I, Roger would be courting little Esme, Charles would have _five _children and Reynolds would be _married_?" James laughed heartily. "To love!" They all drank in agreement, laughing and carrying on.

None of them saw the sandy haired gentleman enter the tavern except for Simon, who immediately felt the hair on his skin stand up. Mercer Arnott was with a group of preppy snobby looking men. Simon knew Mercer had been born into privilege and had earned his law degree with the help of his father's monetary donations to the college while poor Roger had gotten through school only with the help of scholarships because he was so brilliant. When Arnott turned and saw them, Simon cringed and nudged James.

"Damn." Charles muttered, noticing as well. Mercer and his group of friends approached the table and he gave them a benign smile.

"Well, I am surprised to see you here, Westcliff." Mercer said with a chuckle. "I would have imagined you would be glued to Lillian's side."

"His friends dragged him out to celebrate with a few drinks." Simon said, giving Arnott a steady glare.

"Easy there, Reynolds. I only came over to offer my congratulations. No hard feelings. Lillian is a grown woman and is entitled to marry whomever she chooses." He replied smoothly. Simon did not like the way he seemed to always have an ulterior motive, but he kept his opinions to himself. "Honestly, Westcliff. Let me buy you a drink."

James eyed him for a moment, but gestured for he and his three friends to have a seat. Simon and Roger met eyes and both were in agreement that they were going to keep a sharp eye on Arnott. He seemed pleasant enough on the exterior, but there was something about him that left Simon wary. Perhaps it was the idiotic smirk that always seemed to be on his face or the way he wore his hair slicked back, making him appear like a weasel.

The time was spent happily enough and even his three friends seemed drunk enough to get along with everyone. Simon began to relax after the third round of drinks and even found himself laughing with everyone. He kept a watchful eye on the clock though, knowing that Julie expected him home before midnight and he was not ready to jeopardize sleeping in the same bed with her since lately, she was the only thing that kept him sane. He hadn't had a nightmare about Rose in over a week. It was a sickening relief for him to be able to sleep soundly.

Simon had never expected to care much for anyone else as much as he cared for himself, but he found himself being extra thoughtful of her. Though she woke early, he would often get up through the night and make sure that she was warm enough or that she was comfortable. He found himself asking her if she'd eaten enough and if she was happy and he was even more surprised to realize how much her happiness mattered to him. They had been out in public together four times now and all four times, there had been talk of how lovely the two of them were together. His parents and sisters adored her. Simon even found himself being kind to Grace's unfortunate husband.

"Well," Mercer said after a while, staring at his watch. "I should probably be going. I have to be on a train tomorrow to Italy. I'm meeting with a new firm." He stood up and nodded at them, his friends following suit. James, who was the most affected by the alcohol gave Arnott a wobbly smile.

"It was a pleasure…" He slurred, shaking Mercer's hand. Mercer studied him a moment and smiled.

"I wish you both well…"Arnott said.

"You're all right." Charles said, clapping the smaller man on the back. Simon watched him nod quickly and motion for his friends to leave.

"Well, _that_ was a surprise." Roger said dryly, watching after the four men.

"I'll say." Simon agreed.

"It jus' goes to show…" James began, looking down at his hand in confusion. Simon watched as he closed his fist and opened it. A drunken laugh left his throat. "I can't feel my fingers…"

"Good God Westcliff, since when are _you_ a lightweight?" Charles chuckled, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the barmaid for the bill.

"My mouf feel funny…" James said giddily, touching his face. Simon found the sight quite funny, his best friend poking at himself like a small child. James deserved to get drunk, he'd waited a bloody decade to marry the girl. "I wan' anover drin." He said, sounding even further affected.

"What you need is a glass of water. You're going to be sorry in the morning." Charles told him jovially.

"My face is numb…" James mumbled, his eyelids beginning to drop. Something in his gut told Simon that something wasn't right.

"Westcliff?" Simon said, pushing against James's shoulder as his head began to droop forward.

"He's just passing out." Charles sighed. "Too much too drink." Roger was staring at him with his head tilted and shook his head.

"He doesn't look right. If it were the alcohol, his face would be red, and he's pale…" Roger said quietly. Charles took the glass of water the maid brought and tried to make James drink it, but he began to choke on it.

"He can't swallow." Simon said in horror, watching his friend gurgle on the water. At that moment, James's hands gripped the table violently and he began to shake as his eyes opened very wide. He cried out in agony and fell to the floor. Simon was at his side instantly, looking down at him. James was clutching just under his ribs and writhing from side to side. Touching his friend's cheek, it was ice cold. He looked up at Charles.

"We have to get him to a doctor." He said grimly.

"He'll never make it." Roger cried, agonized.

"There's a doctor just across the street!" The barmaid cried, horrified. Simon gathered James up and with Charles's help, the three men followed the shrieking woman across the street and waited impatiently for the middle aged doctor to open the door. He had obviously been asleep, but he became alert instantly when he saw James lying limp in Simon's arms.

"Come in." The man said, pointing them to a nearby exam room. James was trembling horribly and his eyes were wide open and staring. It was the worst thing Simon had ever seen besides his younger sister's death.

"He's been poisoned." Roger said desperately.

"Do you know with what?" The doctor asked.

"No." Simon replied. "He said he couldn't feel his fingers and then his mouth felt funny…and he started clutching his stomach."

The doctor hovered over James, inspecting him thoroughly, but quickly. He shook his head grimly.

"Aconite poisoning seems likely. I will treat for a few poisonings, but I cannot promise any results. There are no known antidotes for Aconite." He explained regretfully. "We must cover his body and keep him warm. I will give him a compound of water and iodine. I will also give him a dose of brandy hypodermically in case it is Digitalis. Other than this, I can't promise anything."

"Just do what you can." Simon said quietly, sinking into a nearby chair and putting his head into his hands.

"Where are you going, Tiernay?" Charles asked as Roger made for the door. Simon looked up to see as well. Roger looked solemn.

"I'm going to find Mercer Arnott."


	14. Karma

Lillian was almost asleep when she heard the frantic knock at her bedroom door. Flinging herself from the bed, she had visions of intruders in the house taking one of her little brothers or the twins hostage. She quickly unlocked the door and found herself looking up at her father's tired face. His jaw was set in a way that told her this was no small matter.

"Papa," She began, "Is everything…Maman, the boys…?" Her voice faded when she saw him put a hand up to silence her before he pulled her into a crushing embrace. Something was very wrong.

"It's James." Papa said quietly. Pulling back, she looked up in disbelief.

"What do you mean?" She whispered. He shook his head.

"He was poisoned. Simon and the boys got him to a doctor quickly, but they're unsure if the treatment worked." Dag sighed. "He hasn't woken up." Tears filled her eyes before she even fully comprehended what had happened.

"Who poisoned him?" She asked hysterically, rushing back into her bedroom to start throwing clothes on. Dag sighed.

"I don't know anything yet. I just received word that James had been poisoned." His hazel eyes met hers. "I'm sorry, Lily." He said.

"I need to go to James." She said desperately. Dag nodded knowingly.

"I know. That's why I am already dressed. Get into your clothes and meet me at the carriage as quickly as you can." He turned and left the room while she feverishly threw on her clothes, uncaring whether or not they were on straight or presentable. \

The Westcliff home was full of people going and coming, rushing about with medicine and blankets. Servants frantically made tea and a small group of visitors had gathered in the front parlor. Darya Beauchamp stood with her husband and tried to calm her upset baby daughter, while Roxana Westcliff stood with a hard look on her face. Justin Westcliff sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. Lillian saw her cousin Charles leaning against the doorframe in tense conversation with a police officer while Simon Reynolds berated one of the doctor's assistants. She clutched her father's arm as they were led into the room where James's family and friends waited for news.

Roxana noticed them first, softening at the sight of Lillian and Dag. To Lily's surprise, the woman pulled her into a tight hug and patted her hair.

"He's going to be all right." She said with a fierce conviction. Lillian could feel the tension in the woman's muscles, but she relaxed because Roxana was soft and comforting. She smelled of wild lilacs. Vaguely, Lillian was aware of her father patting the woman on the shoulder.

"If you need anything, Roxana…Fern and I would be happy-"

"We're fine. Thank you, Dag." Roxana said kindly, trying to smile. "James is going to be fine." The way she kept saying it frightened Lily. It was as if she were trying harder to convince herself that what she said was true. Lillian could not even bring herself to consider the other possibility. She refused to even entertain the thought of James dying. Leaving Roxana's embrace, she went to Simon Reynolds for an explanation. He saw her coming and stiffened.

"Lillian." His voice was deep with exhaustion.

"What happened?" She asked, feeling herself tear up again.

"Someone tried to kill James." He said simply, but when she asked who, he just gave her a pitying look. "Why don't you have a seat, Lillian? You look exhausted. I'll get you some tea."

"Why are you avoiding the-?" She asked, cut off when he left the room. Moving next to her cousin Charles, he kissed her cheek. "You'll tell me who did this, won't you?" Charles sighed heavily.

"Let's not talk about it right now, Lil. You're already upset. Go relax." He told her. Anger boiled within her blood. James could be lying on his deathbed and she felt she had the right to know who had tried to murder him. She had to know who was responsible. Brushing past Charles, she ran past the bustling people and into the bedroom where James was laying before anyone could stop her.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of James lying on his childhood bed. He was chalk white and his jaw was slack, hanging slightly open. His lips, once a delightful dark pink, were a frightening shade of pale blue and she could see every vein in his eyelids. His blue black hair was matted to his forehead and he was covered to the neck in blankets. She could see the labored, uneven breathing move his chest erratically. Before she could find the strength to rush to him, she was being hauled physically out of the room by Charles.

She began to fight him, to no avail, screaming like a banshee. Lillian knew she was making a horrible scene, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to her was James, and he was dying. That dream she'd had about the two children and the puppy could all have been destroyed in one fell swoop. And nobody would even tell her who had taken it from her!

"I want answers!" She cried angrily, breaking free and pointing an accusatory finger at Simon, who was holding her cup of tea, and at Charles. "Who _did _this?" Charles and Simon met eyes for a brief moment before Charles nodded and looked into her eyes with a sigh of defeat.

"Lil, it was Mercer." He said. Lillian could only stare at her cousin, trying to comprehend what he'd just said.

"What?" She asked, looking back and forth between the two men. Simon nodded, confirming Charles's answer.

"He gave us this speech about congratulating James and wanting to buy him a drink. It all seemed fine until he left." Simon looked down. "I swear to God, Lillian, I watched him like a hawk. I don't know how he did it."

"Mercer _Arnott_ did this?" She asked again. The two men nodded at her. A new rage came into the pit of her stomach and she heard a low growl leave her throat as she lunged forward. "I am going to kill him! Where is he?!"

"We don't know yet. Roger is out looking for him." Charles told her, catching her and holding her still. "You need to calm down, Lillian. Do you think James would want you to be hysterical like this?"

"I don't _care_ what James wants!" She cried angrily. "I _am _angry! I _am _hysterical! James could _die _and it would be _my_ fault!" Justin Westcliff moved through the crowd and put an arm around her.

"Lillian, this is not your fault. This is nobody's fault, but for the person who did it." His voice was calm, but there was a slight waver in it. Uncaring what she looked like, she buried her face in James's father's chest and began to cry. He was an extremely kind man, patting her back and guiding her to sit in an armchair. A cup of tea was thrust into her trembling hands and a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders. People continued to talk around her, but only two words ran through her mind.

_My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault._

_

* * *

  
_

Julienne looked at the clock again and sighed. Twelve-thirty. She drew her dressing gown over the filmy negligee she was wearing for Simon's return. He'd forgotten. She tried to tell herself that he was a man and his best friend had just become engaged. Julienne would try to be understanding, but she could not deny the hurt she felt since he had promised to be home by midnight.

Slumping on the bed, she willed herself not to cry as she looked at the candle which had dwindled to nothing. The strawberries which had become soggy and the champagne which had become warm and flat. Julienne knew she was overreacting, but she couldn't seem to control her emotions tonight. That afternoon had been so wonderful and Simon had promised only to interrupt their time together for a few hours and pick up where they had left off.

With a sigh, she carefully blew out the candles and curled up on top of the covers, holding a pillow to herself. She stared into the darkness for a few minutes before she heard one of the maids calling her from the other side of her bedroom door.

"Sorry to bother you, Madame." The girl said with a quick curtsey. "We just received word that one of the gentlemen was poisoned at the tavern this evening and has been taken to the Westcliff residence."

"Is it Monsieur Reynolds?" Julienne asked, hushed, feeling suddenly guilty for being angry with Simon. The girl shrugged apologetically.

"The note did not say." She explained.

"Thank you, Margaret." Julienne said. "Tell them to ready the carriage for me, dear." She told the maid, trying to sound calm when she wanted to cry out in agony, horrified at the thought of losing Simon when she finally felt they were making progress. Numbly, Julienne got dressed and flew down the stairs into the carriage, uncaring whether her hair was properly bound. It hung in loose ebony ribbons around her shoulders and down her back. Every clap of horse hooves sounded to her like a heartbeat she might miss.

The ride was unbearably long even though it was but a few blocks. She stared out the window, hoping for a sign it was not Simon.

Before she even dared to hope, she saw him outside the house, pacing and smoking a cigarette. Her heart beat frantically against her ribs and paralyzing relief made her weak as she practically unhinged the carriage door before it stopped moving. Simon turned to look just as she hurled herself into his ready arms. He hauled her upward, her feet leaving the ground. Burying her face into his warm neck, she breathed in the scent of him, smelling the sweet scent of brandy and tobacco.

"I'm sorry for standing you up." He said, holding her steadily. She sobbed into his shoulder.

"I don't care about _that!_" She blurted. "I thought it was _you_." Understanding came into his icy blue eyes and he held her tighter.

"So you _do _care about me." Simon chuckled, smoothing her long hair.

"Of course I care, you idiot!" She retorted, irritated, smacking his chest weakly as he set her lightly on her feet. "Don't ever scare me like that again, Simon Reynolds!" When he didn't smile, her heart began to beat fast. She watched him run his hand through his light hair, a nervous habit of his. "What is it?" Julienne asked, touching his cheek. His eyes glittered, and for a sickening moment, she thought he was going to cry.

"It's James." He choked out. "Mercer Arnott was ther…I should have been more careful…" Simon blinked rapidly, unable to meet Julienne's eyes. "I should have known." Brushing the backs of her fingers along his jaw, she made him meet her eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Simon." She told him. "Where is Mercer now?"

"Roger is looking for him." Simon said and she felt sick to her stomach with worry for her husband and for James.

* * *

Roger had one more place to look after leaving Mercer's empty flat in Paris. He had no doubt in his mind where the would be murderer was hiding. Mercer Arnott was at this very moment taking refuge in his father's massive house. It was no secret that Mercer's father constantly protected his son from the harsh realities of life that Roger had known so well. Algernon Arnott was one of the richest men in France, owning half of the railroad. Mercer had eased through life with the assistance of his great fortune.

Roger and Mercer had been classmates in law school and, while Roger's nights had been spent crouched over a textbook, Mercer had been a fan of taverns and rich parties. Although he had been engaged to Lillian for the entire four years of school, it was no secret that Mercer was a frequent skirt chaser. He boasted about how well he hid it from his unsuspecting, devoted fiancée, forgetting that Roger was a friend of her family. Mercer hardly acknowledged Roger's existence. Unable to hurt Lillian, Roger had never told her what he knew.

Even though Roger had been the top of his class, the speech he had made as Valedictorian had been cut short as time was made to thank Algernon Arnott for his generous donations to the school. Uncle Nadir had been furious and had ranted about the evils of wealth the entire way home.

Now, over a year after graduating and finding a position with a small firm, Roger worked tirelessly trying to make a name for himself while Mercer Arnott had achieved a choice position in a large firm thanks to his father's connections. Roger told himself often that karma would always bring justice to those who were undeserving, but he could not deny that he was bothered by this.

Roger knocked on the huge door to Arnott's mansion just on the outskirts of Paris. He was surprised with Algernon himself opened the door only a crack.

"What do you want, Gypsy?" He asked harshly. Roger glared at him.

"I am _not_ a Gypsy." He said bitingly. "I am looking for _your_ son."

"He isn't here." Arnott replied quickly, trying to close the door. Raising an eyebrow, Roger forcefully pushed the door open, causing the stout, bald man to stumble backwards, clutching for the wall with his fat fingers. Sure enough, Mercer was standing just inside the foyer looking pale. His sandy colored hair was wild.

"This is private property!" Algernon Arnott was saying, "And _you_ are trespassing, you filthy Persian!" Roger ignored the man's racist remark, staring at Mercer.

"What have you _done_, Mercer?" He asked in a low voice. "_Poisoning?_" Shaking his head in disgust, he moved toward him. "I've known you to be capable of many things, Mercer, but _murder?_"

"She was _mine!_" Mercer protested weakly. Roger's hazel eyes narrowed at the man.

"You are _pathetic_." He spat. "A spoiled child. You don't meddle with people's _lives _because you didn't get your way!"

"I did what I had to!" Mercer cried, sounding unhinged. "Lillian was the only girl I ever loved!"

"Except for the woman you left her for." Roger pointed out cruelly. "And all of the women you were unfaithful with." Mercer pursed his lips, staring at him. "Any small chance you had of keeping Lillian, you've ruined."

"What do you want?" He asked, irritably.

"Turn yourself in. Do the right thing." Roger said simply.

"Are you crazy, man?" Mercer cried. "I'll rot in jail!"

"And you don't believe you deserve that punishment?" Roger inquired, the lawyer in him coming out. Looking down into the shorter man's face, Roger cornered him against the wall roughly. "If James Westcliff dies tonight, it will have been _your _fault!"

"You can't prove it was me!" Mercer said arrogantly. Rolling his eyes, Roger swiftly wrenched Mercer's jacket open and reached into the inside pocket, withdrawing an empty glass vial.

"You never were good with details, Merce." He said, pocketing the evidence.

"How much for your silence?" Algernon Arnott asked from behind them. Roger let go of Mercer, watching in satisfaction as he staggered. He winced in disgust, turning to Mercer's father.

"Unlike most people, Monsieur, I can't be bought." He gave the man a wry grin. "And I'm going to _tell._"

With purpose, he moved past the father and son like a panther stalking its prey. Just as he opened the front door to leave, he saw the police approaching the house. Roger stared at them, impressed.

"How did you find out?" He asked a nearby officer while two others handcuffed Mercer. The man lit a cigarette and gave Algernon an assessing look.

"Mademoiselle Holden told us he would probably be here." The officer grinned when the pair of policemen approached with Mercer. "Oh, and she wanted me to give you this." He said to Mercer before he brought his knee up sharply into Mercer's groin, causing him to double over in pain. "Get him out of my sight."

"I found this on him." Roger said, producing the empty vial. The officer's eyebrows lifted with obvious inspiration.

"Well done, Tiernay. You might be a prosecutor someday." The man reached up and patted his shoulder since Roger was so much taller than everyone. At Algernon Arnott's look of shock, Roger could not resist smirking.

* * *

Esme awoke to the sounds of excited voices. It was obvious that one or more of her older siblings were here. Dressing quickly, she brushed her long, red hair and tied it back with a ribbon before leaving the room to soothe her curiosity. Madeleine and Adam were crowded around her parents with Walker and Olivia and Emmy was there with hers and Charles's children. Charles was still at the Westcliff's home. Esme's mother held one of the newborn twins, Ellie, while Emmy held little Henry. Everyone was talking at once and her father was calmly trying to sort through the voices.

"One at a time!" Erik cried, giving Evangeline an exasperated look.

"They found him at his father's house, hiding like the little snake he is." Adam said, shaking his head.

"Roger found him!" Maddie added excitedly.

"_Our_ Roger?" Esme's mother asked in surprise. Madeleine nodded.

"He was wonderful from what Charles told me!" Emmy interjected. "He stormed right in and cornered him and found the empty poison vial!"

"Who was poisoned?" Esme asked, inserting herself into the conversation and catching little Knox up into her arms. Her mother sighed and her father met her eyes.

"James." He replied. Esme's eyes widened.

"Who would do such a thing?" She asked, horrified. Emmy shook her head.

"Mercer Arnott did it because Lillian agreed to marry James." She told Esme gently.

"And Roger went after him?" She asked incredulously. Everyone nodded. "Is James going to live?"

"We don't know anything yet." Erik answered truthfully. "But it doesn't bode well. The doctor said it was probably Aconite poisoning, but they are unsure how much James actually ingested."

"He's still alive though." Evie added, rocking the baby.

"Which is a good sign." Esme's father said firmly, putting an arm around her mother. "Roger is a hero. Mercer is in jail because of his quick thinking. Nadir would have been so proud."

"Are you proud, Dad?" Esme asked cautiously, wanting to see how her father really felt about Roger. Erik nodded.

"Extremely." He said, eyeing her knowingly. Esme excused herself and decided to go and visit Roger to hear the whole story. She rode into town and promised to return later in the day. Roger was not at his office when she arrived and had taken the day off. With a sigh, she turned to leave and recognized the tall fair haired man from before. Robert Smythe.

"You must be Esme." He smiled kindly down at her. She nodded.

"Good morning Monsieur Smythe. You must be looking for Roger as well." The man nodded and she laughed. "He's taken the day off, I've been told."

"Ah well, I just came to drop this letter off for him. I'm returning home and wanted to make sure he had it before I went." Esme smiled despite herself, and met the man's eyes. They were a striking shade of hazel, almost golden. Paired with his light hair, he was quite handsome and oddly familiar to her. He was very tall, and she barely reached his chest as she shook his head. "You're leaving?" She asked, disappointed. Roger had grown very fond of this man. Smythe nodded.

"Unfortunately, duty calls." He said. "Ah, the aristocracy." Putting on his hat, he set the letter on Belle's desk for Roger and nodded to Esme before leaving again.

Esme knew where Roger would be and directed the driver to take her to the Westcliff's. To her surprise, Julienne and Simon were both there as well as her cousin Lillian, whose eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Julienne gave her a suspicious look when she was showed into the crowded parlor. Madame Westcliff slept on a sofa with her head in her husband's lap. Charles stood near the window, turning at the sound of his youngest sister's name. His emerald eyes narrowed as well.

"What are you doing out alone?" He asked, sounding far too much like their father.

"I came to see how James was, and to see Roger." She told him, giving him a look. Charles shook his head.

"You look just like Mother when you make that face." He said quietly, nodding toward the back doors. "He's outside. He didn't sleep all night." Charles told her. Smiling at her brother, she kissed his cheek before leaving the room and walking out the French doors onto the terrace. She was somewhat unsurprised when she found Roger sitting with his feet up on the rail. His eyes were closed and he was obviously asleep.

Esme tilted her head as she stared at him. It was amazing how innocent a man could look in his sleep. She felt a longing to kiss his partially smiling lips. Careful not to wake him, she brushed his thick, black hair from his forehead and crouched beside him, hovering her lips over his and barely pressing her mouth against his. He must not have been fully asleep because his eyes opened almost immediately and he stared at her with his exotic, hazel eyes. The way the daylight reflected in them, they seemed to gleam gold and green.

"Esme Marie?" He asked tiredly, sitting up and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands.

"I came to see you. I hear you're a hero." She said softly, taking his hand. Gently, he fingered a loose red tendril of her hair that had come loose from her hastily pinned hair.

"Not a hero. Just had to help." Roger smiled. "It's my job."

"How is he?" She asked, sobering and looking back toward the interior of the house. Roger frowned, sighing and standing.

"He seems to be doing a bit better, but he still hasn't woken up yet. Lillian is sick with grief. The doctor gave her a sedative." He informed her, leading her into the garden. "Darya finally had to take the baby home to get her new clothes and fresh cloth."

"I went to your office this morning." She said, feeling uneasy about telling him that Smythe was leaving. She was unsure how he would react since she knew how much Roger admired the man.

"Oh?" He asked, putting her hand into the crook of his arm. Esme took in a long breath.

"I saw Monsieur Smythe there." She said quietly. "He left a letter for you." Roger gave her a small curious look, but said nothing. "He's going home tonight." Esme thought for a brief moment she saw his eyes darken.

"He couldn't stay forever." Roger said softly, looking out into the garden. "The letter must be his contact information to keep in touch." He sighed and turned to look down into her eyes. She was taken aback momentarily because the rush of déjà vu came over her and she could have sworn she had just lived this moment.

"Esme," Roger said, touching her cheek. "I need your help. Will you come to my house?" Esme nodded.

* * *

Roger hated lying, but it was the only way to get Charles to consent to let Esme go alone with him. He told Charles he was taking her to eat and then home. He did not intend to do anything less than honorable with her, but it was highly improper since he had not yet proposed to her. She didn't speak much, but seemed content to be near him and held his hand the entire way.

The house was silent as usual when they walked in together. He let her up the wooden staircase to the second floor and stopped in front of his Uncle's room.

"I haven't been able to bring myself to go in here since…you know." He explained, looking down into her sympathetic face.

"We'll face it together, Roger." She assured him, squeezing his hand as he withdrew the key he always kept in his pocket. The lock clicked easily and the door creaked open after weeks of being closed. Everything was untouched, pristine in appearance but for the layer of dust that had gathered over everything.

"There's something I'm supposed to find." He admitted to her. "Leila visited me in a dream yesterday."

"Your mother?" Esme asked, intrigued. He nodded, letting go of her hand and moving to the closet. Opening it, his eyes settled on the heavy black trunk that had belonged to Uncle Nadir.

"I'm almost afraid to open it." He said.

"Do you want me to?" Esme offered. He shook his head, kneeling beside it.

"I have to." He replied, pressing the buckle and thrusting the heavy top open. It was immaculately organized. On top of everything was an envelope labeled, _Reza,_ which Roger set lightly to the side and found the second envelope named _Leila. _He knew this was what she'd wanted him to find. Trembling, he removed it and opened the top, withdrawing a stack of papers. On top was her birth certificate. Doctor's invoices followed by her death certificate. Roger felt overwhelmed with emotion at seeing proof of her death. Roger had his parents' marriage certificate in his own desk along with his birth certificate. There was a miniature portrait of Leila in there. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl with big bright, dark eyes and a wide smile.

"She's beautiful." Esme whispered, sitting beside him. Roger noticed something sitting neatly in the corner of the trunk, partially covered by loose papers. Gingerly, he took it and found it to be a jewelry box. Flipping open the antique latch, he realized it was his mother's engagement ring. A small lavender stone sat elegantly on the gold band. Roger almost laughed. He suddenly knew his mother's purpose and pocketed the box before Esme had a chance to see. Putting things away, he sighed heavily and rose to his feet, reaching down for Esme. She began to get up when she let go and fell back to her knees, catching sight of something. Reaching inside, she retrieved another miniature photo and studied it.

"This fell out of the envelope, Roger." She said quietly and extended her hand to him. He took the small portrait out of her tiny fingers. "I think it's your father." Her voice was barely above a whisper. He stared down at the face of the man who had died to save he and his mother and was bewildered at what he saw.

"Oh God…" He murmured, looking up at Esme's stricken face.

* * *

**The plot thickens. More Evanna's Secret next Chapter! **


	15. Unexplained Phenomena

Roger's secretary, Belle, looked up over her reading glasses in surprise as he and Esme rushed into the office.

"Monsieur Tiernay, I thought you were taking the day off!" Belle exclaimed, watching as Roger crossed over to his desk.

"I told you to take a day to yourself too. I will pay you." He told her, thumbing through the pile of unopened mail. It was about halfway down the pile. Tossing the rest of it unceremoniously on the desk, he studied the envelope with only his name written on it.

_Roger, _

_I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you, but it's time I started telling the truth. Your father was shot twenty-eight years ago, but contrary to what you were told, he did not die. His family brought him back to England to recover and when he inquired about his wife and child, he was informed that both had perished in childbirth. It wasn't until the detective you hired found him, that he even knew of your existence. _

_I am your father, Roger. My full name is Roger Gavin Tiernay, the same as yours, and I am now the Earl of Fletchley. A title that will one day be yours, if you so choose. I have never remarried or sired any other children, so to find out I have not only an heir, but a son, is the most wonderful gift I have ever received. I was afraid to tell you because I was unsure of how you would react. I will never forgive my father for lying to me. If I would have known the truth about you, I would have returned for you. I am forever in Nadir's debt. Included with this letter is a copy of my will. You are the sole beneficiary to my fortune. _

_I hope one day you can forgive me, and perhaps find it in your heart to come find me. _

_Your father, _

_Roger Gavin Tiernay_

He met Esme's blue eyes and dazedly showed her the letter. She scanned it quickly and sighed.

"All this time…I can't imagine what this must be like for both of you." Esme said sadly, handing the letter back. Turning to look at the clock, she frowned contemplatively.

"What are you thinking, Esme Marie?" He asked, folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket.

"His train hasn't left yet for Le Havre. You could still talk to him."

"We have to hurry." He said, taking her hand and calling out a quick goodbye to Belle, and the main office secretary, Ruth.

They fled toward the train station, and Roger prayed they would get there in time. To his chagrin, they saw the train departing as they pulled in. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach filled him with disappointment. He got out of the carriage in front of the station and reached up for Esme, watching as her hair became completely unbound in the afternoon wind.

"I'm too late." He said and she looked unsure of what to do.

"I'm sorry, Roger. I know how important this was to you." She comforted, standing on her toes to pull him into an embrace. He had to bend almost in half to hold her. Instinctively, she ran her fingers through his long, black hair. He could feel her heartbeat against his body. Sometimes, Esme still seemed like a child to him, tiny and innocent, but other times she seemed a seductress who had no idea what power she could hold over men. He remembered the ring box and could nearly hear Leila's voice in his mind.

_It's time, Roger._

He began to reach for it, but was interrupted by Esme's voice.

"Oh!" She cried, pulling away. Roger turned around, following her gaze and saw his father standing there. His light hair was wild from the warm wind that indicated a storm was coming soon.

"I thought you were leaving." Roger said, unsure of what to say now that he was no longer Robert Smythe. His father had a curious smile on his face.

"It was the strangest thing. I was all settled into my seat when I thought I saw Leila standing on the platform. I rushed out of the train, but she was gone and when I turned back, the train was pulling away." He looked skyward. "I suppose it was a sign, but now I find myself without my suitcase."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Roger asked, folding his arms uncomfortably. He felt like a nine year old orphan again rather than a grown man of twenty-seven. The elder Roger Tiernay shrugged helplessly.

"I had to see you for myself, to make sure it was really you. When it was, I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I thought you would hate me." He explained. "I'm a coward, and I think Leila knows it. It's why she made me get off of that train."

"I know." Roger told him. "I saw her too. Last night. She led me to my uncle's things…that's how I realized who you were."

"If I would have known." The Earl looked down. "The wound was infected. I was out of my head for almost three months. By the time I was coherent, your mother was gone and Nadir had taken you and it was assumed that you had died as well." Roger saw that he had tears in his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to end that way." Roger swallowed.

"Uncle Nadir used to say that there was no use dwelling on the past because to live in the past is not to live at all." Roger said quietly. Esme stared up at him with a look of sympathy in her bright eyes.

"Your uncle was wise. He was a good man." His father said with a teary nod. He held out his hand to Roger. Meeting Esme's eyes, she nodded encouragingly, urging him to take it. Hesitantly, Roger took his father's hand only intending to shake it, but the man pulled him into a strong hug and began to sob. Although a flurry of emotions was coursing through him, Roger couldn't do anything but try to comfort his father. He heard Esme sniffle as she watched them and his heart began to beat faster.

"Come on." He said, pulling back and reaching for Esme's tiny body. "Let's go to the Destlers' before Charles has me murdered."

* * *

_Evanna stared desolately through the pouring rain after Jack as he walked away from her again, much the way he had left her before. He and his wife were leaving the country for her health. Clutching her swollen stomach, she willed herself not to cry. She stared back into the empty cottage, realizing she not only was going to raise the baby on her own. She was no longer employed and she had too much pride to go and beg for her job back. He'd taken her in on an act of sheer kindness and she had left stupidly. Jack had already squandered her severance pay and had gone back to his wife, who was sufficiently rich. _

_Sobbing, she leaned against the table, ignoring the cramps in her lower back as the baby kicked furiously, as if feeling its mother's heartache. The knock on her door made her shriek aloud and for a terrible moment, she thought Jack might have forgotten something and she would have to watch him walk away from her again. When she opened the door, however, it was Lord Davenport, soaked from the rain staring down at her. _

"_Evanna!" He gasped, seeing her state. "What is wrong?" Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she saw her face was red and swollen and her light hair was tangled and loose. _

"_Jack is gone." She replied flatly, lighting a candle. _

"_I know. I heard talk that he and his wife were leaving the country. It's why I came here." She could not meet his eyes. "Oh, Evanna, I am so sorry. Come home." She shook her head, blinking back tears. _

"_No…I don't belong there. You're going to have to get married one of these days and I don't think I could bear to see you with-" She stopped abruptly, staring at him in horror and unable to believe the almost confession that had just left her mouth. Lord Davenport stared down at her in mild surprise, touching her shoulder. _

"_Evanna, do you love me?" He asked cautiously. She looked down at the floor. _

"_I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that. It was none of my business." She said quickly, trying to move away from him, but he caught her. _

"_Answer me." He demanded, looking into her eyes. "Do you love me?" Shakily, she nodded. His eyes closed as if this were too much for him to take and he sighed deeply. Biting her lip she looked away. _

"_I'm so stupid! I've made all the wrong choices, I-" _

_Gently, he placed his fingers to her lips and looked at her sternly. _

"_Don't ever say those things about yourself, Evanna, because I can't bear to hear you speak that way of the woman I love!" He scolded. "And if I ever hear you say a thing like that again, I shall punish you severely!" _

"_I…I'm sorry…" She stammered staring up at him before she stopped breathing as his words sank in. "I…did you say you loved me?" With a small smile, he rested his forehead against hers and nodded. _

"_I David Ambrose, Lord Davenport, love you Evanna Reilly. I have since the moment you came into my life." He told her. She felt his hands lightly holding the sides of her face as he tilted her chin upward. "Kiss me." _

_She obliged, allowing him to place his mouth over hers before she cried out in pain. _

"_Oh!" _

"_Are you all right?" He asked worriedly, scanning over her. Lifting her skirt, it was obvious that her water had broken. Without a word, he scooped her up and put her into her bed before pausing at the door. "I will be back in ten minutes with a doctor, Evanna." _

_Less than five minutes later, true to his word, David returned with the local doctor at his side. The poor man looked as though he'd been physically dragged from his bed, and Evanna noted worriedly, that this could have actually happened. Writhing in agony, she did as the doctor instructed while David paced nearby furiously as if he were the expectant father. _

_A full hour passed before she had the urge to push. David stood near her head while the doctor remained stationed between her legs. The pain was like fire. It felt like her entire body was ripping itself in half. There was no relief, not even when the doctor informed them that he could see the head of the baby. It was even worse when the shoulders came out, but almost an instant later, the pain disappeared and Evanna's cries were replaced by the sharp wail of an infant. Holding the baby up, the doctor smiled tiredly at her. _

"_Congratulations Madame, you have a daughter." He told her, taking the baby to clean her. David pulled Evanna into his arms, kissing her hair. _

"_You were wonderful. She's healthy and you are both going to be fine." He said soothingly as Evanna began to catch her breath. A moment later, the doctor returned and placed the baby into Evanna's arms. It was very strange to see her baby daughter, because she did not resemble Jack at all. In fact, she seemed only to look like Evanna, which was a sort of comfort to her. _

"_What will you call her?" David asked, peering down at the baby. _

"_Tessa." Evanna said, remembering her long dead mother. _

"_I like that." He said with a smile. "Lady Tessa Ambrose." Evanna met his warm brown eyes, surprised. "Well that will be her official title of course, but her family will call her Tessie." _

"_Are you offering marriage David?" Evanna asked tearfully, "Because I can't seem to control my emotions right now and-" _

"_I mean it. Evanna, you are going to be Lady Davenport within the week." He insisted. She smiled, wiping her tears with her free hand. _

"_Why me, David?" _

"_Because you can see David Ambrose and not just Lord Davenport." He kissed her tenderly on the lips. "Will you marry me?" _

"_Yes." She choked, smiling through the tears that kept streaming down her face. "Would you like to hold her?" He nodded, gingerly taking the baby out of her arms and looking down into the big blue eyes. It seemed to come naturally to him, holding her. Carefully, he touched her chubby little stomach and her tiny hand wrapped around his large finger. He stopped breathing for a moment as he stared down at her and Evanna could see the bond form as if he himself had created this little girl with her. He loved her. She was his. _

_

* * *

  
_

Simon practically had to carry Julienne into the house as she was so weak from exhaustion. Easily, he hoisted her and brought her into the bedroom they now shared nightly. With gentle hands, he removed her clothes and replaced them with a soft cotton nightgown that she adored. Simon pulled back the quilt and made sure she was comfortably lying on her side before he kissed her cheek and left the room to go get some hot milk to help him sleep.

On the way to the stairs, Simon noticed the door to Julienne's study was hanging open and curiosity got the better of him. He wondered who she wrote to and what she said. He wanted to know everything about her. She fascinated him with her small quirks and her quick intelligence.

The desk was a mess of jumbled papers, ink wells and pens. Sitting in the midst of all of this was something oddly intriguing. It was a thin manuscript. Picking it up, Simon opened it and began to read.

_Evanna stared desolately through the pouring rain after Jack as he walked away from her again, much the way he had left her before…_

Simon's eyes widened as he found a note attached.

_M. Buckney-_

_Here is this week's copy. I really appreciate this opportunity to have my work published. _

_J. O. Reynolds._

A small twinge of amazement crept into his body as he realized his wife was the most talked about author in Paris at the moment and she didn't even take proper credit. She was incredible. Simon decided in that moment to be the husband she deserved. When woke in the morning he would tell her how proud he was and how he really felt for her.

"Simon, come to bed, I can't sleep without-" Simon whirled around and saw Julienne standing in her nightgown, looking like a young girl. Her eyes lowered to the manuscript still in his hand. _"What _are you doing?" She asked in a low voice.

"It's you." He murmurs. "You're the mysterious author everyone has been talking about…" Simon knew he sounded dazed, but he could not get over how impressed he was. Her eyes blazed blue fire.

"How _dare_ you invade my privacy?" She cried, snatching the manuscript out of his hands. Hurt, he stared at her unable of how to react. "You had no right to come into my study!" Suddenly, he was angry.

"I am your _husband!_" He thundered as if that were ample explanation. Half a second later, he realized his mistake, but it was too late, she was already storming back to the bedroom to throw a dress on over her night clothes. Unhearing as he tried to apologize, he watched helplessly as she left the house.

* * *

Lillian sat at James's side, praying for a miracle. It had been a full day since he had been unconscious and it didn't look good. The doctors did not look hopeful. Her parents had come begging her to come home, but she refused to leave his side. Sleep tried to take her, but she fought it, afraid to miss even one moment.

Lillian could not bring herself to go home and face her dark, empty bedroom alone. The silence would mock her, taunt her. If she slept, she would only have nightmares. She longed to go to the jail where Mercer was being kept and try to claw his eyes out through the bars. The man she had once adored she now despised.

His mother and father remained optimistic, but even they were beginning to show signs of wear. Roxana Westcliff was a strong woman, but Lillian had noticed she stole away sometimes and she suspected that the woman was crying to herself. James's father was easier to read. He did not cry, but his face was pale and his eyes were sunken and tired.

Lillian's parents had stayed with her through most of the past day, only leaving to go home and attend to the other children. Thomas was the only one of her siblings that was actually still a child, so they had more freedom than they would have if Thomas, Marcus and the twins were all very young. She couldn't imagine having seven children as her parents had done. The thought that she could have conceived two nights before made her skin prickle with anticipation. If James never woke up, he would never see that hypothetical child. He would never know if their daughter had his blue eyes or if his son had the same wild, blue black hair that Lily loved so well.

If she was pregnant and James was gone, she would have to live in isolation since her reputation would be ruined. She would have become Evanna, but there was no Lord Davenport for her. Her sister Jane had lovingly stopped by to bring her the latest chapter of _Evanna's Secret, _which had been a nice vacation for a moment, but the harsh reality came crashing to her. Scenes from their childhood summers came flooding back to her, and she longed for the carefree feeling of those times. She wished to be back in pinafores with her hair in two braids, running through the forest behind James. Lillian remembered when they had picked leaves and eaten them, wondering what they'd tasted like. All they had done was leave a nasty taste in their mouths. She remembered that first kiss he'd given her when she was fourteen and he was seventeen.

She also remembered when she had revealed that she was engaged to Mercer and James had left the party her parents were having for them. She had run after him, hurt.

"James, wait!" She'd cried, running into the night in her evening dress. He'd stopped and stared down at her as if she'd betrayed him in the worst way. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" He shrugged, trying to sound arrogant and indifferent as he had done since he'd come home from college. "Lily, you don't owe me anything."

"I know, but I—" She stopped, wanting to say so much and afraid to say anything. She had made her choice. Mercer Arnott had put a ring on her finger and she had said yes. "You never said anything to me!"

"I thought my feelings for you had always been clear, Lily." James said quietly, looking up at the starry sky.

"You're different now!" She explained. "Things have changed."

"That much is obvious." He replied acidly, nodding toward the house. "Go back inside to your fiancé, Lillian." Lillian blanched as he called her by her full name. Though she'd always claimed to hate Lily, she'd found she liked the way it sounded when he said it. She watched helplessly as James Westcliff walked away from her without another word, not even bothering to glance back.

That was five years before. Now, she was engaged to him finally, and he was lingering on the edge of death. Lillian was not ready to give up. Not when they had waited so long to get here.

"James," She said into the silence. "Do you remember when we all snuck away from Simon's seventeenth birthday party and went swimming? We all stripped down into our underclothes and jumped into the water…I remember it was the first time I'd ever seen a man without a shirt on and I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Remember? You teased me because I was so skinny?

Or how about the time that you got into a fight with Renaud Denton and I decided it would be smart to beat him up for you, so I went looking for him. He didn't expect me to actually punch him, but I gave him a black eye because he got you in trouble." Lillian paused, watching closely for a sign of reaction. Her lip trembled. "R-Remember?" Breaking, she bowed her head, letting the tears break loose. "James, you have to wake up. You _have _to, because I don't think I can live without you now. If you do…" Her voice dropped to an aching whisper, "_die, _then I'm coming too. I can't stay here in a world where you don't exist." Lillian let herself sob, resting her cheek against his slow breathing chest. She cried so hard that her chest hurt.

Lillian was so lost her in own black thoughts that when she felt a hand on her head, she let out a sound between a gasp and a scream. Looking up, she saw James's blue eyes were partially open and he was trying to focus. An odd sound like a groan came from the back of his throat. He gave her a look of bemusement as he noticed he was lying in a bed.

"Wha's wrong?" He whispered hoarsely. Lillian stared at him in disbelief, praying she wasn't asleep and dreaming this all up. "Why you cryin'?"

"J-James?" She sobbed, moving up and taking his cool face into her hands. "You were poisoned…I'm so sorry…it's my fault. I should have known…"

"Wha' you talkin' 'bout, Lily?" He asked. She began to cry again.

"It was Mercer!" She blurted, burying her face in his chest. "He tried to kill you."

"Why is that your fault?" He rasped.

"Because I…" Lillian paused, unsure of how to word it. "I don't know." She said miserably.

"Not your fault." James assured her, petting her hair weakly.

"It should have been you from the beginning." Lillian said, sniffing. "If I would have just married _you_ five years ago, none of this would have happened."

"I don't care bout that now, Lily…" He said, touching her face. "I got you…an' I'm not goin' anywhere." He tried to push himself into a sitting position but soon fell back down, feeling ill. "Lily, look away…have to vomit." Patiently, she grabbed a nearby bowl and waited while he unloaded the contents of his stomach into it. She lovingly dabbed a cloth on his forehead.

"Do you need anything?" She asked, setting the bowl on the ground. He nodded.

"Need some water…I'm at my parents'?" He added, looking around his childhood bedroom. Lillian shook her head, confirming this.

"What happened, did you scream, Lillian?" Roxana asked, rushing into the room and seeing James's eyes open. Her mouth fell open in relief.

"Hello Maman." James said, speaking as if he were a child again. Roxana rushed to her oldest child's side.

"Justin!" She cried, kissing James's flushed face. Lillian nearly fainted in gratitude when she saw heat returning to James's face. "Justin come in here at once!"

James's father bounded into the room, looking ashen and obviously expecting the worst. James managed to smile at his father.

"Pa." He said, "Bet you thought I was dead meat, huh?" Justin Westcliff gave his son a teary grin.

"No, I knew you were as stubborn as your mother." He said, sounding as if he had a cold. Lillian watched, touched, as Justin brushed the matted black hair off of James's forehead and kissed his son's forehead. Wiping the tears under her eyes, Lillian couldn't stop smiling as she left the room to go fetch some water for her fiancé.

* * *

Evangeline Destler looked up from the book she was reading in bed at the sound of a knock at the front door. Erik was in his office, working on some blueprints. Checking the clock, it said, ten-thirty. Frowning she pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and removed her spectacles.

Walking down the stairs, she saw Julienne being led in by one of the maids. Her face was wet with tears and she looked drawn. Rushing to her, Evie pulled her daughter into a tight embrace.

"Oh, Maman!" Julienne cried, and out of the corner of her eye, Evie said Erik come down into the foyer, still fully dressed.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" She asked, pulling back to look at her daughter's face. Julienne looked down.

"Simon and I had an argument." Julienne replied. Erik gave his wife a knowing look.

"What happened?" He asked, guiding them both into the front parlor. Julienne settled on the sofa beside Evie while Erik sat with his legs crossed in a chair. He instructed one of the servants to bring tea.

"Well, we were going to bed and I got up to see why Simon wasn't in bed too…and," She paused to wipe her nose, "And he was in my study!"

"Why is that bad?" Erik asked, obviously confused. Julienne sighed heavily.

"He found the latest chapter of _Evanna's Secret_!" She exclaimed, looking somewhat horrified. Evie met Erik's green eyes for a moment before her daughter's words sank in.

"Evanna's…you mean, it's _you?_" Evie asked, astounded. Julienne nodded. Erik's eyebrows raised, impressed.

"You really _do_ take after your mother, Peach." He said with a chuckle. "So what is the problem then?" Julienne stared at them both as if they were mad.

"He was _going _through my _things_!" She said angrily. "He invaded my privacy."

"Sweetheart," Evie replied mildly. "There is no such thing as privacy in marriage. Did he seem angry?"

"No…" Julienne admitted grudgingly.

"Upset?" She offered.

"No." Her daughter answered grumpily. "In fact, he almost seemed excited until I…" Julienne's blue eyes closed. "Oh dear."

"Peach, are you sure you're really mad that Simon found out you're a writer, or that he is the first person to realize that you wrote _Evanna's Secret?"_ Erik inquired calmly, thanking the maid as she set his favorite Russian tea in front of them. Julienne burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Evie stared at her daughter, alarmed.

"It's all right, darling." She soothed. "It's nothing to be ashamed about…"

"I know!" Julienne sobbed. "I just can't seem to stop myself…" Evie looked at Erik, who seemed more interested in squeezing a bit of lemon into the tea than the fact that his daughter was weeping. Pressing a hand to her daughter's forehead, Evie came to a quick realization.

"Jules, when was your last cycle?" She asked, frowning. Julienne paused momentarily, looking utterly lost. "Your monthly cycle." Evie urged gently.

"A couple of weeks before the wedding, I guess…Why would you…?" Julienne's eyes widened. "Oh my God. You don't think…"

"I don't know…but it's obviously possible." Evie pointed out. Erik sighed.

"I'm going to telephone your husband, Julienne." He said, trying not to smirk as he left the room. Julienne stared at her mother dumbfounded and Evie couldn't hold back a laugh as she pulled her girl into her comforting arms.

* * *

**Getting there. I'm trying to wrap this up so I can focus on my other deserted stories. I can't seem to concentrate on the others though. This one won't get out of my mind, so I apologize for not updating my other stories. lol. **


	16. Starting to Heal

Simon was furious.

There really was no other way to describe his surly demeanor as he paced furiously through the house. The servants had all been driven to hide or make themselves scarce. Once his wife had gone, he had stormed into his office and practically torn the liquor cabinet open. Since then, he had obliterated the remainder of his brandy and a quarter bottle of whiskey.

Distantly, he heard the telephone ring, though he chose to ignore it and stare into the amber liquid in his glass. He had been ready to tell Julienne the most important confession of his life and she had thrown it back into his face. Granted, he _had_ gone into her personal things, but wasn't that his right as her husband? Why should she keep secrets from him when he'd kept none? Well, but for the one secret, but she had found out anyway and he hadn't thrown nearly as big of a fuss over it. And it wasn't in his nature to talk about his feelings. What self respecting man wanted to admit to his wife that he was a vulnerable weakling who still had nightmares about his sister's death nearly a quarter century before? The thought of even speaking of it was preposterous to him.

The sound of his butler's cautious footsteps caught Simon's attention as he looked up at the door expectantly. Nervously, the man cleared his throat.

"Sir, there is a phone call for you." He said quietly.

"I'm unavailable." Simon barked, making the man wince.

"It is your father-in-law." He explained apologetically. Simon's eyebrows raised and he sighed, setting the drink aside.

"I'll be right down." He answered and watched the man nod before leaving the room. "Damn." He muttered before moving to walk down the stairs.

Taking the phone from the butler, he paused a moment to gather his bearings and began to talk.

"Monsieur Destler."

"Simon," He heard Julienne's father say before sighing. "She's here. She's not feeling well, so I sent for a doctor to come examine her. It's nothing serious." Simon felt a sharp pang of worry in his chest, followed immediately by guilt over the fight. "Why don't you come get her?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Simon said, feeling the color leave his face as he turned immediately to his butler upon hanging up the phone. "Tell Francois to get the carriage ready immediately. My wife is sick."

"Right away sir." The butler said before scurrying away to do his master's bidding.

During the carriage ride, Simon's half drunken mind ran away with him. What if Julienne had made herself ill because she was so upset with him? Or she had been so angry that she refused to come home? What would he do then? If he never got to tell her how proud he was to be married to her, how would he cope? Or worse, if she was so ill that she died?

Simon knew he was overreacting, but the alcohol had put these thoughts into his mind. All of the former anger he had felt from her lashing out at him was gone and replaced with the desperate need to see her face and to feel her cheek against his shoulder. If this was love, then Simon hated the feeling. He was a man who liked to be in control and he had never been so irrational in his entire life. He had always relied on logic and facts, never on feelings. With other women, it had only been about pleasure, but even then he had always been left unfulfilled. With Julie, he always wanted more, but he never felt incomplete afterward. He felt right with her.

Destler's impressive home came into view and Simon sat up in vivid anticipation. He could see many of the lights on in the house and his heart lurched. He gave his driver curt instructions before dashing up the steps and ringing the bell. Almost instantly, he found himself staring up into the masked face of Erik Destler. His eyes were kind to Simon's relief.

"She's up in her old room. The doctor is just finishing with her now." Erik explained, leading her up the stairs and down a long, carpeted hallway to an open doorway. Light from within the room spilled into the hall and he could hear the doctor speaking softly to Julie.

"Now, you must remember to take good care of yourself and eat very well. It is important." He was saying.

"Of course. I will." She agreed.

"And I would like to check up on you from time to time over the next few months." The doctor informed her.

_Months?_

"Yes, we'll see to it." Evangeline Destler's voice came as well. Simon met Erik's smiling eyes.

"Sir, did she say anything about—"

"Reynolds, it is obvious my daughter is well cared for. I see no signs of marital strife, but for an overly emotional girl and a young man who are learning that marriage is no easy task. But if you are willing to take the time to work things out, it can be the most wonderful experience." Destler grinned. "Trust me." Poking his head into the room, Destler looked at his daughter. "Peach, I've brought something for you." Grabbing Simon by the arm, he thrust him into the bedroom. He was caught by the doctor, who patted his shoulder.

"You're the husband, I assume?" He asked. Dumbly, Simon nodded, trying to crane around him to see Julienne to assess her health. "Congratulations." The doctor said, leaving the room with Destler. Vaguely, Simon was aware of Julie's mother leaving as well, shutting the door quietly behind her. He stared at Julienne, who did not look pale, nor unhealthy in his opinion. In fact, she looked quite hearty. To his surprise, she held out her arms for him to come sit with her. Obediently, he obliged and perched on the edge of her bed. Gently, she took one of his hands and laced her fingers with his.

"I'm sorry." Both of them blurted at the exact same moment, meeting each other's eyes. They both laughed in surprise.

"It was wrong of me to invade your privacy, Julienne, and I apologize." Simon told her. "But if I am being honest, I'm glad that I did." Her blue eyes widened and he held up his hand. "Let me explain," he said, "When I found out that you were this person everyone is talking about, I was so proud. And the fact that you remained anonymous means that you aren't like every other glory monger out there. I've enjoyed these weeks as your husband, but for the first time tonight, I really felt close to you."

He studied her expression closely, watching the tilt of her head and the softening of her eyes. Reaching out, she tenderly brushed his light hair back out of his face.

"Simon, what do you remember about Rose?" She asked, taking him aback. His heart thundered in his chest erratically as he tried very hard to picture his sister, but he was not angry at his wife for bringing her up.

"I remember she was pretty." He allowed, "She had blonde hair, like all of us, and her eyes were very big. She liked to sing, and she was the only one of us that actually showed any interest in ballet. My mother so wanted her children to love what she loved and Rose did."

"And you were six and she was four, you two decided to trick your governess?" Julienne urged, holding his hand.

"We told her that we heard Gracie crying and when she went to check, we ran out the back doors. We were going to build a tree fort." He said, shaking his head and closing his eyes to the memory.

"You know it wasn't your fault, what happened." Julienne said. "I know it must be awful to lose a sibling like that, so young, but Simon, you both wanted to climb that tree…you _both_ tricked the governess…and even if she had gone above you, if she would have fallen, you both would have been killed and your parents would have lost two children." Julienne took his face into her hands. "Listen to me, Simon." She said, "You were _six_. Do you think if Rose were alive that she would want you to blame yourself for something out of your control?"

"If Rose were alive, I wouldn't have to." Simon said bitterly. Julienne let go of him and turned away, frustrated.

"I need you to let go of this guilt that holds you away from me and the rest of the world." She said, sniffling.

"Are you crying?" He asked, panicking.

"I need you to leave Rose in peace and forgive yourself because I can't do this without you." She sobbed, clutching his shirt in her hands. Confused, he put his arms around her and kissed her hair.

"Do what by yourself? What are you talking about, sweetheart?" He asked, smoothing her hair. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"I can't raise this baby without your full support, Simon!" Julienne cried, burying her face in his chest.

"You won't have to anything by yourself, I'm always here for y—" Simon stopped dead, very nearly having a heart attack. "What baby?"

"My baby!" She exclaimed. "_Your_ baby…my God, Simon, where have you been? You just spoke to the doctor!"

"N-no…" He stammered. "I just thought you were sick." Shaking his head to regain his senses he stared at her in disbelief. "You're pregnant?" She nodded as a mixture of terror and complete awe filled his stomach. He could only stare at her, making her cry harder, upset. "No, no, no…please don't think I'm unhappy about this…" Simon said, trying to comfort her. "I am happy! It's just…" Looking away, he held her, trying to think of something to say that did not make him sound like a fop. "There's always this fear inside of me that if I wasn't a good enough brother to have the sense to keep my little sister safe, then how could I ever take care of my own child?"

Julienne pulled back and looked up into his face with her big, teary eyes and touched his cheek.

"Oh Simon." She said, pulling him close to her. "We have a lot to learn before we become parents, don't we?" He nodded.

"For starters, no more leaving the house if we argue." He said, kissing her forehead and offering her his handkerchief.

"And we must be mindful of each other's feelings. If you want to read my stories, all you have to do is ask. I wouldn't have refused." She said.

"Would you have admitted you wrote _Evanna's Secret_ unless I had uncovered it?" He challenged. Julienne shrugged.

"Probably not." She admitted. "I'm glad you did though."

"Me too." He smiled, kissing her on the lips. A long sigh left him. "A baby." He mused, shaking his head. "Well, we will have to redecorate and there are considerable changes that must be made to the house. I think we shall have your room converted into the nursery since it has the adjoining door to mine and you never sleep in there anymore anyway." He added, his eyes glinting. A small smile curved her lips.

"Simon?" She said softly, as he lovingly rubbed the nape of her neck.

"Yes, love?"

"Let's go home."

* * *

Esme watched Roger and his father talk to each other with a small smile on her face. She had opted to keep her distance for the time being and not to crowd them. A gentle hand caressed Esme's shoulder, causing her to look up into her mother's soft blue eyes. Evangeline smiled and looked toward Roger.

"I don't think I've ever seen Roger so happy." She mused aloud. Esme nodded, a feeling of melancholy coming over her. A heavy sigh left her.

"I know, Maman." She said, patting her mother's small hand. "No one deserves it more than he does either." Evangeline frowned, sitting beside her daughter.

"You're sad, Esme." Evie said quietly, studying her. "Why?"

"Oh…it's nothing." Esme forced herself to smile, shrugging. "Just tired is all. It's been a long day."

"Yes, it has. James woke up." Evie added.

"He did?" Esme said, feeling the slightest bit better. Her mother nodded, smiling.

"He's going to be fine. Your Aunt Fern said Lillian is simply impatient to marry him." Evangeline grinned. "Much like your Aunt Fern was impatient to marry your Uncle Dag."

"I know the feeling." Esme muttered, watching her mother's eyes widen slightly though the smile did not leave Evie's face.

"Do you, love?" Her mother's eyes flickered over to Roger briefly. "Tell me, Esme. Do you love Roger?" Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Esme nodded.

"I always have." She admitted, feeling like a small child with a crush again. Evie nodded.

"I think I've always known." Her mother replied, taking her hand.

"Do you think he'll go to England with Lord Fletchley?" Esme inquired, tilting her head. Evie exhaled softly, curling her fingers around Esme's.

"He might." She admitted. "But don't assume anything, sweetheart. Roger has always had a mind of his own."

"Nadir would have wanted him to be with his family though." Esme pointed out. Evie touched her youngest daughter's pink cheek lovingly.

"Esme, you know as well as I do, that we are as much Roger's family as Lord Fletchley. Perhaps even more so. Nadir knew that better than anyone." Patting her hand, Evie rose and left Esme to her own thoughts. Esme pondered the possibility of Roger leaving for good. His entire life had changed in the course of one day. He was now the son of an aristocrat, which was quite a luxury. He could return with his father, the prodigal son and find himself a lovely English bride to make his future Countess. Roger had loved Esme, he'd said, but that had been when he was an orphaned half Persian lawyer. Maybe he wouldn't think she was good enough for him, or worse, Lord Fletchley wouldn't approve of her. After all, though her father was wealthy, he had been convicted of many crimes in his life and had a notorious reputation as a former womanizer. Not to mention, he was once called "The Phantom of the Opera." If that wasn't enough to send the nobles running, Esme wasn't sure what was.

Esme decided to go outside into the warm night air and try to clear her head. She knew exactly where she wanted to go. There was a small overhang of vines in the gardens that she had once used as a hiding spot when she was a child. The grass was moist from the evening dew forming and the air was heavy. Looking up, Esme noticed that there were no stars in the sky. She suspected a storm was coming, but she didn't mind. She had never been afraid of storms like Claire had. They had always brought her comfort and calm for some reason. One of her favorite past times had always been to watch lightning streak through the rolling clouds. In the distance, she heard the rumble of the thunder she loved so well. Curving her back against the hedge, she brought her knees up to her chest, crouching in a space she had once fit into so well. Her red hair tumbled loosely down her back and over her shoulders. She tried to concentrate on the lovely cool breeze whispering through the leaves, but only the hurt of Roger's possible leaving penetrated her heart, making her ache. Esme had become so lost in thought that she hadn't heard the sound of footsteps on the damp grass.

All she could see were his shoes and the hems of his trousers, but she knew instantly it was Roger. He and Bella were the only two people she had ever told of this hiding space.

"Why are you hiding, Esme Marie?" Esme winced at the laughter in his happy voice. He had no idea that he was killing her just by standing here when she couldn't bear for him to even be a mile away from her, much less in London. So she could not bring herself to answer him, just stared ahead at his feet. Roger must have suspected something was amiss because he crouched, brushing some of the vines aside so that he could look at her. Willing herself not to cry, she swallowed and bit the inside of her cheek. She saw him frown momentarily before moving to sit beside her.

"You know," He said, "We don't really fit in here anymore."

"Where do I fit, then?" She asked, unable to bring herself to look over at him. Surprised, he looked at her.

"What?" He asked in a low voice. Holding back a pained look, she kept her gaze outward and away from his eyes.

"I heard you and your father speaking. He wants you to come to England with him." Esme felt a tear escape the corner of one eye and begin its traitorous trail down her cheek. She forced herself to meet his eyes and saw the stricken look on his face. "I understand." She whispered, trying to smile. "I know you have to. You should." Lightning lit up the garden briefly as it began to rain finally with purpose. Even the haven of the leaves was not enough to keep them dry and Esme could feel her hair becoming longer and heavier with the weight of the water.

"Come on, we should go inside." Roger said, taking pity on her, but she held back.

"I don't mind it. I love the rain." She said, sniffling as her eyes burned still. "You don't have to lie to me, Roger."

"You think I came this far in my life just to run away to England and leave everything I know?" Roger asked, sounding angry now. Esme blinked, staring at him in confusion.

"I thought—" She began, shaking her head to regroup her thoughts. "I mean, he's an Earl and—"

"I'm very grateful to have found him, Esme, but if I've learned anything these past weeks, it's that blood means nothing. I've always had a family and you've always known it. I've always been accepted by your family as one of your own." Roger smiled. "Esme, you're the best friend I've ever had. How can you think I would just leave and forget about all of you? Especially you." His eyes darkened. "Especially with all that has transpired between us these past few months!"

"You've never indicated that you wanted—"

"Are you _blind?_" Roger cried in disbelief. "I become a bowl of melted butter the moment I _see_ you, Esme!" Esme had never seen Roger so irritated, and it was almost becoming, watching his golden hazel eyes flash fire at her. "I thought it was common knowledge that I worship the ground you walk on!"

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You _should _be sorry!" He said, moving to standing in the pouring rain. As she heard him utter a curse for the first time in her life, Esme scrambled out of the overhang and stared up at his face, which was dripping. "I've been a bloody _fool_ for you since forever and _this _is how you feel? You think I would just leave you?" She watched in wonder as he turned sharply away from her and tried to regain his calm. "I have been carrying this around in my coat _all_ day trying to find the courage to do this."

"Do what?" She asked in sheer confusion. Whirling around, she watched as he sunk to a knee in the soft, rainy grass. Lightning split the darkness around them as Thunder bellowed, but she hardly noticed when she saw what he was holding. Carefully perched between his graceful fingers, was a jewelry box with a delicate ring inside it. A shining lavender gem was set in the gold band. "Oh my…" She breathed, unable to move.

"Esme Marie, will you marry me?"

She met his eyes, which had softened. His jaw was set in anticipation, but his overly long black hair was matted against his face from the rain. Roger had never looked more beautiful to her.

"Really?" She asked, to affirm that she wasn't imagining this. A wide grin crept onto his face and he nodded. Before she could think, she had thrown herself into his arms, sinking to the ground and took his face into her hands, kissing him with all of the passion she had built up over the past months. After a moment, he pulled away and held her at arm's length.

"Are you going to answer me?" He asked, chuckling as thunder cracked again.

"Yes…oh, yes!" She nodded, running her fingertips over his well defined jaw. "Finally." He pulled her against his wet clothing again, so that she could rest her cheek against his broad chest. Esme felt him kiss the top of her head and from the way his cheek pressed against her crown, she could tell he was smiling. A moment later, he sank to sit completely in the soaking grass and pulled her into his lap. Carefully, he removed the ring from its case and slipped it onto her finger. To her surprise, it fit almost perfectly.

"I have something else to ask." Roger said, admiring the way his ring looked on her hand. Esme looked up at him expectantly. He kissed her lips quickly. "My father wants me to come to England…for a visit. I want you to come too."

"You do?" She asked, unable to stop beaming. A surge of happiness filled her so fiercely that she thought she might explode from it.

"Of course, if your parents were opposed to you leaving alone with me…I could arrange for Bella and Tris to come stay with us as well." Roger went on as the rain began to slow. Esme kissed him again, clinging to him as he stood up, lifting her completely as he did. She buried her face into his neck.

"I wish I could have been more for you. Taller, prettier, smarter…" Esme sighed contentedly. "I am not quite Countess material." Esme could feel Roger's cheek tighten with a grin.

"I like you the way you are. I don't know if I am Earl material either, but we have time to learn, don't we?" She met his light eyes and nodded. "And darling," He added, "You are _everything _for me. "

* * *

"Woman, if you don't stop fussing over me, I am going to—" James growled, glaring at his fiancée.

"You'll what?" Lillian asked, her eyes alight with laughter. "You're going to try to stand up and fall back down again?"

"I hate this. I hate being a bloody invalid."

"Nobody likes it, James." Lillian returned dryly. "That's why it's called an ailment." She rolled her eyes at him affectionately. "And you aren't an invalid, sweetheart."

"I don't like being helpless. It's very emasculating."

"I quite like you being vulnerable." Lillian said wickedly, sitting beside him and taking his hand. "I have you all to myself."

"I'm just glad to be in my own home." James sighed, looking around his bedroom. "My parents, though I love them, are a bit overwhelming."

"Your mother is so strong. If I had even an ounce of her courage in me, I would be content."

"Lillian, you are heartier than you think." James laughed. "You've fought with me for most of our lives, remember? You are comparable to a lioness rather than a kitten." She scowled at him, feeling the urge to argue though she wasn't really mad or cross with him.

"And you're comparable to a mule rather than a stallion." She shot at him. A wide grin lit his face like it was Christmas.

"There's a girl. It never seems right until you call me an ass." Bringing his arms around her, he pressed his lips to her temple. "And I wouldn't have it any other way." As she felt the urge to fight subside, she allowed herself to move closer to him. Biting her lip, she looked at the clock. It was half past four in the afternoon already and her parents would expect her home soon for the sake of propriety. All she would prefer to do would be to stay with James.

"I don't want to go home." Lillian said. "I don't want to wait for you. I want to be married now."

"Me too." He replied, squeezing her hand. "Just a few more weeks until our wedding, and we can be together all of the time."

"I am sick of it!" Lillian cried, suddenly filled with frustration so badly, that it brought tears to her eyes. "I'm so tired of always _waiting _to be happy!"

"Lily…" James said, his voice softening. "Come here." She allowed him to draw her close to him. His hands moved to stroke her head lovingly. "You know you aren't really waiting. You already have me. You know you don't have anything to worry about."

"It isn't that." She said, straightening up. "I don't want to go home. I don't want to have to go home. I want your home to be _our _home!" His eyes flickered with understanding.

"I know. You deserve to be married already. And I assure you, if I were well enough, I would take you to Scotland this very night and marry you." James told her. Lillian giggled, despite herself.

"A blacksmith wedding? How quaint."

"Three weeks, love." He told her. "That's all…and then, forever." She let him pull her chin toward him. His lips barely grazed over hers, but it was enough to make her heart pound with longing for him. Lillian could feel his breathing quicken and become labored as the kiss deepened. With a hiss, James drew back, and quickly kissed her forehead.

"Three weeks." She said, pouting. He nodded.

"Even if I weren't determined to wait until we were married to have you again, I couldn't bloody well do it in this condition. Not properly anyway." Lillian settled her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes with a yawn.

"I could always take advantage of you." She replied tiredly, suddenly feeling the past few days catch up to her.

"You haven't been sleeping." James said accusingly. Lillian shrugged.

"I can't. I try, but all I think of is whether you're all right." Looking up at him, she saw his frown. "I am just going to rest my eyes for a moment, love." She told him, sinking back down to rest on him. "Just going to shut my eyes for a few minutes…"


	17. Wistful Bliss

**First of all, I owe all of the readers of this story an apology. I did not realize I never finished this. I thought I had and so I never updated. Forgive me...I'm preparing to marry the man I've been in love with since I was fifteen and time slipped away from me. **

**I do hope you enjoy. I have the rest of this outlined, so it won't be long. **

**Sydnee**

* * *

3 WEEKS LATER

_It was a terrible day for a wedding. It was raining and cold and dark outside…but neither the bride nor the groom noticed the thunder as they danced with each other. The tiny Lady Tessa was well attended in her nursery above, though the new parents had slipped away at least twice to go check in on her. Evanna had never worn such a fine gown, and though she knew there were scandalous whispers of her being made David's wife, he'd fully accepted her daughter as his own, even going to far as to make it known that he had conceived her with Evanna so that there was no way that Jack Teegan could ever stake a claim to her. _

_If anyone had anything negative to say on the union, they had not done so to anyone else, and it so happened that Evanna was now the most popular Duchess in London. She had received scores of invitations and letters from tenants and society members alike. _

_David excused them and they let the party go on without them as they descended the stairs to first look once again at the baby and then on to their bridal chamber to spend their first night together as husband and wife. Evanna looked up at David, who was smiling down at his new daughter with the pride of any new father. _

"_I'm so lucky." He said, grinning down at her. Evanna laughed and linked her arm through his, reaching down to stroke the baby's rosy cheek. _

"_I'm the lucky one." She corrected him. "The worst night of my life turned out to be the most wonderful accident when I stumbled onto your doorstep. I was so lost, David…" _

"_I was so unhappy before you came here, Evanna. You don't know how lonely it was. When my brother died and I became the Duke, I had no clue what to do, but you showed me that I didn't have to change who I was. I'll never be able to repay you for making me see that it was not my fault that Jacob killed himself."_

"_Hush." She told him quietly. "Why don't we agree that it was a mutually rewarding relationship and that everything has turned out for the best. I'm sure that's all Jacob could have ever wanted for you. The fact that you accepted Tessa as yours, I—"_

"_No, Evanna. There was nothing to accept. She was always mine…she was always intended to be mine…just as you were." He assured her, leaning down to kiss her once more. "Now," David smiled, taking her hand in his after kissing the baby's forehead, "Wife. Let's go to bed and enjoy the storm in front of the fire." He stooped to sweep her up off of her feet and closed the door to the nursery._

_**This, dear readers is the ending of this story that I have spent so long working on. I cannot say that I am not sad, but all good things must end so that new good things can begin. I thank each and every reader and I am content knowing that perhaps, I brightened your Saturday mornings. **_

_**God Bless you all.**_

_**-Julienne Olivia Reynolds**_

"Lillian!" Giselle cried, bursting into her bedroom, where Lillian sat staring contentedly at the dress she would put on in just a few minutes. She turned to look at her twin sisters, who were together clutching the morning paper between them. Their eyes were wide with delight and surprise.

"It's the last _Evanna's Secret_!" Nora exclaimed, thrusting the paper forward. "The author revealed herself…"

"You're never going to believe who it is!" Giselle added excitedly. Lillian took the paper and scanned through the final chapter before coming to the author's note at the end. With each new word, her smile grew wider and her heart began to flutter.

"Somehow, I'm not surprised at all." She told her younger sisters, handing it back and beaming up at them.

"You _aren't?_" Giselle asked, looking slightly disappointed. Lillian shook her head.

"Of course not, love. Julienne's been writing her poor little fingers away since childhood." She pointed out. "I'm so glad it's her."

"I can't believe it's over!" Nora sighed, sinking to sit beside her oldest sister. Lillian's arm draped around her.

"No doubt there will be more to come." She assured her, kissing Nora's pretty cheek. "Now come, you two…help me dress. If you can forget Evanna for a few minutes to remember that your oldest sister is getting married this morning." She added, unable to keep the smile off of her face. Fern Holden entered the room with a tray full of food, shooing the twins out of the way as she set it in front of her eldest child.

"Maman, we're going to eat breakfast after the ceremony." Lillian protest, not relishing the thought of being crushed into a corset with a full stomach. Fern shook her head. "It's just one boiled egg, darling. To keep your stomach calm so you don't faint!" Lillian knew better than to argue with her mother, spearing the soft membrane of the egg with her fork and quickly wolfing it down. She paused only to take a sip of the orange juice and pushed it aside.

"We're running out of time." She said impatiently, standing and slipping her dressing gown off. Fern gently set the tray aside and helped Lillian into her corset before turning to the dress. It was very simple, but Lillian had never been a woman of extravagant tastes. When she had been engaged to Mercer, he had insisted that she dress in some elaborate gown so that he could show her off like a trophy. With James, he told her time and again that he could show her off in a burlap sack and people would be impressed…it was why she loved him. He _knew _her.

James had been given a clean bill of health just the day before by the doctor, though he was still slightly weak, his color had returned and the fullness was returning to his cheeks. He and Lillian had not been intimate again, deciding to wait until tonight when he would bring her home to his house. The mere thought of it made Lillian want to rush out the door this very moment and marry James. Fern smiled, seeing her flush and pulled a letter out of her pocket.

"This arrived yesterday, darling. From Bella." Fern told her, handing Lillian the letter to read while she began the task of buttoning the back of her dress.

_My dearest Lillian, _

_I am so excited for you and for James, I only wish I could be there to see you two finally wed. You must come visit soon and tell me all about it. I find myself unable to travel because I have had a bit of a shock myself. Tris and I are expecting another Coolidge. Can you believe it? Pretty soon, you'll probably have a little Westcliff of your own. I know you're itching to have a family…you'll be a wonderful mother, Lillian. _

_Please give James my love…and enjoy your day. _

_All of my love, _

_Bella (and Tris, Edward, Nessa and soon-to-be baby)_

Lillian smiled to herself, holding the paper to her heart and sighing.

"She's pregnant again."

"I know. I read it." Fern told her unapologetically. "I also read _Evanna's Secret_." She added with a mischievous tone. "Evangeline must be beside herself with pride."

"I know I am." Lillian agreed, thinking of Julienne, who was soon to be a mother herself. With Simon Reynolds. It was all so different than it had been a year ago.

It was better.

Once they had the rags out of her hair and had pinned the curls, her father came into the room to see her. She watched his smile tighten, though to his credit, he did not cry. Dag was a very subtle personality. It was funny though, because she became teary at the sight of him and flung herself into his waiting arms.

"You are so beautiful, sweetheart." He said, kissing her forehead. "But that isn't news."

"Dad, stop." Lillian laughed, wiping her eyes.

"You don't know this, Lillian, but you were sort of a miracle for us." Dag told her, reaching for her mother, who came to him immediately.

"What do you mean?" She asked, eyeing the pair of them. Fern sighed.

"When I first met your father, I was very sick." She explained. "I had caught Scarlet Fever and was very close to death. He was your Uncle Erik's factotum at the time and we had gone to stay with him. He sat with me and talked to me and made me believe that I was going to live and so I completely credit my survival to him."

"Fern—" Her father protested, holding her mother closer. Fern smiled.

"It's true Dag, and you know it. However, after we realized that we loved each other and married, we decided to wait to have a baby. We waited two years and tried to conceive. I did conceive, but I lost the baby." Her eyes grew dark. "We tried again, and the same happened…I became scared that my illness had somehow hindered my ability to carry a child, but your father convinced me that we could be happy no matter what happened." Her father's eyes were twinkling with unshed tears. They stared at each other, almost as if they barely noticed anyone else was in the room.

"She was so upset, your mother." Dag added. "We eventually stopped trying and took comfort in being aunt and uncle to your cousins."

"Then came the vacation." Fern chuckled, turning red. "Your father took me to Italy…we were in Rome and we were sightseeing…there was a restaurant and a fountain…and quite a bit of wine—"

"Argh!" Lillian cried, covering her face and not wanting details. Her mother actually _giggled_.

"Well, needless to say, we were very much in love." Fern said.

"We returned home happier than we'd been in months…" Dag went on. "The firm was doing better than ever, Evie kept popping out nieces—" Her parents both laughed at this. "And then, your mother got sick again, and I became terrified for her life. It hoped it wasn't a relapse. She was weak…" His eyes lit with a new light and a small smile came to his face. "When the doctor came, we prayed and prayed that it wasn't Scarlet Fever again…we couldn't have been further off. Your mother was expecting."

"Only this time was different. This time, it _felt_ different." Fern grinned, blushing. "And it was…after the couple of months I was severely ill, that is." She remedied. Lillian could not stop the smile spreading over her own face if she tried. "And then, a few months later, you were born and we were the most happy we'd ever been. Your father was beside himself with happiness. He got so drunk that night—"

"Fern…" Dag muttered, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Well, it was Erik's fault, really…but it was all worth it when you came into the room – well stumbled really –" Fern chuckled again. "But you sobered up immediately when you saw her." She brushed his cheek with her fingertips. "He took one look at you and said—"

"You were worth the wait." Dag finished in a choked voice. When Lillian met her father's eyes, they were full of tears. She launched forward and allowed both of her parents to envelope her in an embrace.

"I love you both so much." She sobbed into the front of her father's shirt. "You're the best parents any girl could hope for."

"It did agree with us." Fern replied tearfully, though she was smiling, "We had six more after you." Her mother moved away from Lillian and her father for a moment and gingerly picked up the veil in her hands. "I love that you wanted to wear the veil I wore when I married your father." Lillian straightened and stood very still as her mother carefully placed the veil over her gleaming pile of curls. "There." Fern said in a soft whisper. "James is going to die on the spot when he catches a glimpse of you…your father almost did."

"I was terrified…" Dag interjected. At his wife's pointed glare, he added, "Er…in a good way, of course. Well, your sister had a crazy look in her eyes and was practically panting—"

"Yes, poor Evie…" Fern laughed, putting her arms around her husband's waist. "She went into labor with Charles right in the middle of the vows."

Lillian laughed out loud, trying to picture it. She was glad the mood had lightened again and that they could all have a good chuckle together.

Julienne squeezed Simon's hand as he helped her out of their carriage and into the Westcliffs' home for the wedding breakfast for Lillian and James. The ceremony had been much what everyone expected, beautiful and intimate. The guest list was limited, but somehow still extensive considering that Lillian was related to half of France. The Destler family, however, was somewhat limited at this family wedding. Bella and Tris were at home, and they had all just heard about the news of the impending arrival in the Coolidge household. Claire was in confinement, due to pop at any moment, though Gustave did come after Claire threatened to murder him in his sleep if he didn't represent her.

Esme and Roger, as usual, were locked to each other's sides, huddled and talking quietly, though there was now the added factor that they were quite obviously in love. They would be leaving to visit Roger's father in London tomorrow. Julienne supposed she had always known they would end up together. It nearly seemed wrong to picture them with anyone else. Julienne sighed slightly.

Her baby sister was grown up.

"Why so sad, my sweet?" Simon purred from behind her, putting a hand on her lower back. She leaned into him, letting him support her. Though she was newly pregnant, she was tired very easily and the need to use the toilet so often was an ungodly nuisance.

"Not sad, just…wistful." She replied, eliciting a chuckle from her husband.

"Wistful…I like that." He told her, smiling against her temple. Julienne felt her cheeks heat as a few people looked at them, watching for the first time, Simon Reynolds and the woman he was forced to marry, being affectionate.

In public.

"Everyone is staring at us." She whispered, swatting his hand away from her bottom. Simon grinned down at her.

"You do recall that you outed yourself as the most notorious writer in Paris this morning, don't you?" He reminded her. Julienne's eyes widened.

"I'd forgotten!" She exclaimed, bringing her hand to her cheek. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, he soothingly rubbed the nape of her neck. "I wonder if they like the story as much as they did before now they know it's me." She mused. Simon's eyes darkened and a frown came over his handsome face.

"Now, why in the world would they think that?" He asked, sounding more hurt than anything. It almost made her smile, but Julienne bit her lip.

"People love mystery. Once the mystery is gone, they lose interest…" Julienne suddenly knew she wasn't just talking about her story. Deep down, she wondered now that she and Simon were being affectionate, if it was too good to last. If he would lose interest and seek a mistress.

"This isn't about the story, is it?" Simon asked, seriously, pulling her out of the dining room and into the hall. Julienne was unable to meet his eyes.

"I don't know…" She lied, feeling her eyes burn suddenly – another side effect of this condition.

"Are you doubting me, Julienne Reynolds?" He demanded, looking extremely intimidating, hulking over her with that blazing look in his blue eyes.

"I just…" She let out a small distressed breath. "I don't want this all to be too good to be true. I don't want you to…" She sniffed, "to lose interest and seek other – means – of entertainment."

"Still on this?" He cried, hurt by her words. She felt horrible in an instant and began to bawl. "What do I have to do to prove to you that I am a man of my word? When I took those vows –"

"But I don't just want you to be a man of your word!" She blurted, before a wave of nausea at what she'd just admitted…her deepest desire. "I want you to _mean_ it." The words tumbled out faster than she could think. "I want you to _love_ me back!" The stricken look on his face nearly broke her heart. Embarrassed, she ducked under his arm and began to flee the scene. She did not make it very far, however, because she was caught a few feet away around the waist and swiftly, lifted up into strong arms.

Simon's face was hard and serious, yet his eyes were twinkling with an intensity Julienne had only seen once before. When he'd opened up about Rose.

"You do not get to run away." He choked in a low voice. "Not from me…not _ever._" Julienne shivered, even though he was warm. "You said 'love you _back._' Are you saying you love me?" His eyes were not cold, but his face was still set in a tense glare. "_Are_ you?" He demanded.

"Simon, put me down." She muttered, resignedly, horrified.

"Not a chance." He shot back. "Answer me, _now_." Burying her face against his shoulder, she let out a long exhale.

"Yes." She breathed, closing her eyes tightly, unable to bring herself to see his expression.

"Look at me, Julienne." Simon ordered. When she shook her head, he sighed heavily. "Open your eyes. Please…" The tone in his voice made her heart lurch. She forced herself to open her eyes. His face was wet…with _his_ tears. "Do I look like a man who doesn't love his wife?"

"I don't _know_." She admitted tearfully. "Do you?"

"Don't I?" He countered.

"_Stop_ answering my questions with more questions!" Julienne grabbed his lapel. "Do you love me?" They locked eyes for a moment.

"I do." Simon answered sincerely. "Truly."

"Don't toy with me Simon." She warned, sobbing again, but he did not become angry with her. Instead, a slow smile lit up his lovely face.

"I would never." He told her. "How could I ever? How could I lie to you when you have given me every reason to love you? You're having my child…I only wish I had figured it out sooner. We could have had months…_years_ even."

"You weren't ready." Julienne reminded him, caressing his cheek and wiping the tears.

"Well, this ends now." He informed her. "As soon as we get home tonight…we're going to renew those vows, and _mean_ them." He rested his forehead against hers. "And this _never_ becomes an issue again. Understood?"

"Do you mean it?" Julienne asked, hating how breathy she sounded. He growled.

"Julienne—" He warned, "Understood?"

"Understood." She assured him, feeling a rush of pure glee fill her chest. "Simon?"

"What is it, my sweet?"

"I do love you." She told him again.

"And I do love you." He promised, brushing his lips to hers. "And I think," He paused to kiss her again, "that we," and again, "should forget this party and go home." And, once more for good measure.

"That, I cannot do, husband." She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat, letting him set her to her feet. "James Westcliff is your best friend…and he's marrying one of my closest cousins. And two of my sisters are already missing."

"James is a pain in my ass." Simon muttered, but was still grinning like a fool, putting his arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the dining room again.

The sun was setting, and Esme was completely bored with this wedding. She knew she had to act soon, while her mother and father were tied up in conversation with her aunt and uncle and their friends. She locked eyes with Roger and yawned.

"I'm not feeling so well…" She told him, nodding toward her empty glass of champagne.

"You _have_ consumed an unseemly amount of champagne." Roger admitted, his hazel eyes falling to his own empty glass. "I can go tell your father you would like to go home—"

"I want _you_ to take me home." Esme whispered to him, watching his cheeks turn a delightful dark shade of red.

"You know that your father would _murder _me." Roger said, obviously trying not to look flustered. Esme, feeling especially wicked, decided to try a trick that she'd often seen her mother pull with her father. She tilted her head slightly downward and looked up at Roger through her eyelashes. A smile threatened to betray her when she saw his resolve crumbling before her eyes.

"We need to tell your mother we're leaving at least." Roger amended, sounding unsure. Esme nodded, smiling and letting him lead her to where her mother was chatting with two of her sisters, Fern and Bethany.

"Esme! What's the matter?" Evie asked, eyeing her youngest carefully. Esme used her own trick against her mother.

"Don' feel well…" She slurred – or pretended to. "Need to go home."

"We'll leave immediately, I'll go tell—"

"No." Esme said softly. "Look at Daddy…he's having so much fun. Roger can take me home." It was true, her father was laughing with her uncles and the Comte de Chagny. It was clear that he too had been enjoying the champagne. Esme would have giggled if she weren't so intent on deceiving her mother. "Do try not to take advantage of him, Maman." She teased. Evie's face turned a bright shade of pink, but she too had been won over at the obvious prospect of having her husband all to herself that night.

"Leave quietly." She instructed them, flitting her eyes to Erik longingly. "And Roger, take her in through the back entrance." Evie closed her eyes, mortified. "And for love of God, be discreet…I do not want Erik to know that you two were alone together, even though I trust that you both will _not_ take advantage of this opportunity." She met Roger's eyes with a determined look.

"Of course not." He said immediately. "I would never—"

"I know, sweetheart." Evie smiled up at him. Esme looked at the floor.

_That's what he thinks._

"I'm too tired to do anything but sleep, Maman. I'm never drinking again." She said, yawning again. Evie nodded, relenting.

"Go now, before he notices us." Esme didn't have to be told twice. She took Roger by the hand and rushed him out the door, leaning against him as his driver brought the carriage round. As soon as the door was closed and they'd begun to move, Esme pounced onto Roger's lap.

"Finally!" She exclaimed, brightening. Roger's eyes widened, while his hands settled on her waist.

"Finally?" He asked weakly. She nodded.

"I finally have you to myself." She announced, pressing feverish kisses to the spot under his left ear. Esme could feel his breathing quicken, which sent a tingling sensation from her toes up to her head.

"You…you were planning this all along, weren't you?" Roger asked, trying to breathe. It made Esme smile in anticipation.

"Perhaps." She replied, opening his coat and running her hands over his lovely silk vest. The hardness of his muscular chest underneath his clothes made her purr, yearning for something she was unsure of. A long sound left him, though she could not think how to describe it. It almost sounded like he was in pain, but he certainly looked anything but.

"Esme, stop…" He told her weakly. "We can't."

"Roger." She said to him, taking his face into her hands and tilting it down to her face. His golden, hazel eyes bore into her. "Kiss me." It seemed that his hesitation flowed completely out of him, because the way he took her lips with his was very unlike any other kiss they'd shared. It was the kiss of a man driven mad with lust, and Esme loved it. She sighed his name when he moved his attention to the slim column of her neck, twining her fingers in his thick, coarse hair.

Roger broke away from her with an abruptness that startled Esme. She stared at him, heaving with unfulfilled need.

The carriage had stopped. They'd already reached their destination. Luckily, he was staying at the Destler home since they were leaving the following morning for England. The possibilities of having the house to themselves flew through Esme's mind, a shocking array of pictures. Esme now saw the appeal in the acts described in her sisters' old novels when she imagined doing some of those things with Roger.

Her fiancé practically leapt from the carriage, turning to help her and paying the driver for his silence before guiding Esme around the back of the house to the servants' entrance. The house was mercifully empty as she was the only child left at her parents' home now. She practically dragged Roger up the back stairs to her bedroom.

He stopped dead in the doorway and shook his head.

"No." He gasped. "Not like this…I want to wait for our wedding." Esme felt a strong pang of disappointment in her chest, still aroused and unsatisfied.

"But I—"

"Humor me, Esme Marie." He pleaded, taking both of her hands. "I love you, and God knows I want you." Her eyes fell to the fascinating bulge in his trousers. She bit her bottom lip, ashamed at how much she wanted to see it.

"I'm so…"

"Aroused?" Roger smiled, taking her to the bed and sitting beside her. "That's good. It means we'll suit well in the bedroom."

"But I want you _now_." She said, bolding leaning toward him and brushing the tip of her fingers over the swollen area. Miraculously, she felt it twitch under her unskilled hands. Roger nearly jumped out of his skin, but instead of moving away, he smoothly made her lay down on her back and dragged the hem of her gown upward. A thrill of triumph made her swell with excitement.

Leaning upward, Roger tugged gently at the bodice of her gown, pulling it downward and exposing her breasts. Her eyes widened. She'd never been naked in front of anyone but her mother and father when she was a baby. He eyed her approvingly, leaning down to swirl his tongue over one hardened area before doing the same to the other. It made her cry out, begging for more. She should have been horrified by her own behavior, but the thought of being with Roger this way was too consuming…too intoxicating.

A moment passed before Roger abandoned her breasts and lowered down, disappearing beneath her bunched skirt and petticoat. He easily rid her of her troublesome drawers. She vaguely heard herself let out another drawn out sound, one of delicious agony. Esme could feel his hands lovingly part her female flesh before she felt something soft touching her…_there._ It continued, massaging the swollen area maddeningly, taking her to higher heights. The fact that she couldn't see what he was doing made it all the more exciting, but somehow she knew he was using his _mouth _on her. One of his large hands slid up her body and cupped her breast, lightly kneading the soft tissue. Of their own accord, Esme's hands moved down below her skirt, gripping a handful of his hair and holding him there, pressing against him as he brought her higher and made her see lights behind her eyes. Panting, she felt the addition of one of his fingers enter the pliable opening and she completely fell apart, descending into some sort of agonizing bliss. His mouth did not leave her until she had ridden out the last throbbing spasms of her climax.

Very carefully, Roger replaced her skirt, covering her again, but held up her drawers.

"You'll have to dispose of these." He told her, looking flushed. His pupil were dilated with the arousal that he too was suffering from, but he made no mention of it. He had ripped her drawers clean off of her body, splitting them into two ragged pieces. Esme laughed, despite herself, still out of breath.

"Here." She said, reaching for them and shoving them underneath her pillow. "I'll burn them later." Rising, she stood on trembling legs, drunk with the satisfaction she felt. "Let me help you now…" She said, reaching for him. He came to her, but held her hands away, kissing her sweetly on the mouth. She could smell herself on him…a strange aroma, but not unpleasant.

"That I can't do." Roger told her, though his eyes told her he wished it were otherwise. "That will just have to last you until our wedding."

"I can't wait that long, Roger." She told him, resting her head against his chest. He stroked her hair soothingly. "That's a whole _month_ away."

"Roger chuckled, kissing her forehead.

"It wouldn't be right." He told her. "I want to do it properly…"

"Then a compromise, perhaps?" Esme asked, looking up at him innocently and running her hand along his jaw. He purred under her touch.

"Compromise?" He asked, confused and obviously fogged by his own desire, which was now threatening to break completely through the fabric of his trousers.

"When we're in England…elope with me to Gretna Green. Like they did in the old days…in the blacksmith shop." She looked him in the eyes, pleading. "It would be so romantic, and so…_us_." She sighed, letting him draw her closer and resting her cheek against his chest, listening to the erratic thrumming of his heart.

"It would break your parents' hearts to know that their last child got married without them." Roger pointed out. Esme nodded. "I did think of that…so I thought, when we get back, we could maybe…_hide_ it and still have our wedding ceremony. It could be our secret, that first wedding…something _only_ we share."

"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you Esme Marie?" He chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

"A bit, yes." She admitted, looking up at him. "I feel like I've waited for you for so long…even though I'm so young. It would mean everything to me, Roger." Her voice caught on his name, which ended up coming out as a whisper. Roger nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

"I've yet to deny you anything, Esme. I'm not going to start now." He told her. "Very well, we will go to Gretna Green." He cupped her cheek tenderly in his hand, "How am I going to survive the rest of our lives, when I can't even resist you before we are wed?"

"Don't worry…you'll have me there to fight your battles for you."

"Heaven help me." Roger said, but he was grinning from ear to ear.


	18. Sunrise

**A/N: I just want to start this off by pointing out that I drew inspiration for Lillian and James's names from the book It Happened One Autumn by Lisa Kleypas. She is a brilliant author and a wonderful storyteller, whom I could only hope to be half as good as. The characters are Lillian Bowman and Marcus Marsden, Lord Westcliff. I highly recommend that series (The Wallflower Series) and The Hathaways series by her as well. Please do yourself a favor and read them. They go in the following order:**

**Secrets of A Summer Night**

**It Happened One Autumn**

**Devil in Winter (my favorite)**

**Scandal in Spring **

**The Hathaways are tied in with these:**

**Mine Till Midnight**

**Seduce Me At Sunrise (Amazing)**

**Tempt Me At Twilight**

**Married By Morning**

**Love In the Afternoon.**

**Okay, that's enough. I just had to gush about how much I love these books. :) Enjoy. **

**S**

* * *

James sighed contentedly as their carriage stopped in front of his – no – _their_ home. Lillian's belongings had been sent ahead earlier in the week and he'd had his meager house staff unpack everything. He'd improved greatly since his ordeal nearly a month earlier, although he was still slightly weak. Nothing had been able to dampen his mood today, however. It was the day he'd been waiting for since he'd been a young boy. Lillian Nerissa Holden was now Lillian Westcliff, and she had been every bit as beautiful as he'd known she would be.

They had held themselves together remarkably well throughout the ceremony and the vows, though he felt his face begin to crumble when she placed the ring on his finger. He'd caught her staring at him with an eyebrow raised, half touched, half amused. He grinned back at her, feeling completely at ease with her.

They'd barely gotten a chance to have a moment to themselves after the ceremony. It seemed like every time James would turn to his new wife to talk to her or steal a kiss, someone else was approaching them, congratulating them or starting a conversation…or, God forbid, asking about when they intended to have children. (That had been his mother.) Lillian hadn't minded. She simply laughed and replied that they would let nature take its course. James knew better though. He knew that Lillian was itching to have a family of her own with him…and he was very excited at the prospect of being someone's father.

Lillian laced her fingers through his and sighed, looking expectantly up at him when they were inside.

"Home." She said contentedly. James could not stop his smile, pulling her closer to him and dropping a kiss on the top of her veiled head. He wanted very badly to lift her and carry her up to their room, but he was still unsure whether he could hold out. His strength was returning slowly, but he didn't want to chance embarrassing himself and dropping the woman he'd waited almost ten years to marry.

"Lily, I'm sorry I couldn't carry you over the threshold—" She brought her fingers to his lips, silencing him. Her eyes were warm.

"Let me take care of you, now." She told him quietly, leading him toward the stairs. James let her bring him into their bedroom, smiling at the addition of Lillian's belongings with his. He was extremely grateful to his housekeeper for making sure the fireplace was glowing. Lillian excused herself for a moment, bringing one of the maids with her while he waited.

James loosened his cravat and removed it, before removing his coat and vest. Finally, he took off his shirt and sat back to take a breath. It was really frustrating, being unable to do things you had always done without having to stop and rest. He knew it was temporary, but he had to admit, he was glad Mercer Arnott was no longer in the country, because he would have loved to give the idiot a final parting gift. James's thoughts went blank when Lillian stepped back into the room, wearing some sort of negligee and silk robe.

All he could do was stare at her, gaping at the low cut fabric and the flattering way the material clung to her every curve. She turned a becoming shade of pink at his stare and laughed.

"My sisters are naughty, naughty girls." Lily explained, crossing her arms modestly under her breasts, which only served to push her bosom up higher. James had to swallow.

"Remind me to thank them when I see them next." He told her in a thick voice, rising and crossing to her in a few steps. Again, she took his hand and led him over to the fireplace.

"It's more romantic." She explained, running her finger over the warm skin of his throat. Carefully, they lowered to sit in front of the flames; James sat with his legs open and let her settle between them, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He lowered his mouth to the side of her neck, and pressed continuous shallow kisses there, listening to the sighs leave her. Using just the tips of his fingers he moved his hands over her arms and down to her waist. He could feel the luscious curve of her hips beneath the thin fabric of her negligee. He moved his hands further up and finally, fully cupped her breasts in his hands.

Lillian's back arched against him, causing her bottom to make contact with his own arousal. A loud hiss left him. Tenderly, Lillian pulled his hands away from her and turned around to face him on her knees. Her eyes were full of mischief as she leaned forward and kissed him languidly, as if she were savoring the feel of his lips on hers. The silken feel of her tongue lovingly parted his lips and her unbound hair fell around both of them in dark, lovely curls. She smelled deliciously like flowers and tasted even better. He held her face to his, cradling the back of her neck and massaging it. A long sound of approval left her, but she did not remove her lips from his.

Instead, she used her hand to guide him to lie on his back. When he pulled back and met her eyes questioningly, she smiled.

"Trust me." She whispered, leaning over him. James almost chuckled at the fact that in this position he could see straight down her low cut lingerie. His glee was short lived, however, when Lily's head lowered to his stomach. He jumped at her touched and could feel her smile against his skin. Looking downward, her eyes were watching him closely as she moved lower. Vaguely, James was aware that she had unbuttoned his pants and was easily ridding him of those and his drawers.

"What are you—?" James began, lifting himself up on his elbows, but fell back immediately when her hand wrapped around him completely. A sound dangerously close to a growl left him against his will. Through the fog of his overwhelming lust, he heard her giggle and was nearly rendered unconscious when her mouth descended onto his pulsing arousal.

It was clear that she wasn't sure what to do, but it didn't matter. She ran her tongue along the length of him wickedly, still watching his reaction. James twined one of his hands in her hair and stopped her, leaning forward to bring her back up to his level. He smoothly used one hand to disrobe her completely, glad that she had opted not to wear anything but the filmy fabric of her sisters' gift.

"Didn't you like that?" Lillian asked, pressing feverish kisses along his jaw. He moaned, running his hands down her back and feeling the soft curve of her bottom.

"I _loved_ it." He assured her, kissing her on the lips once more. "Too much. I want this to last all night…"

James settled her against him so that both of her legs were on either side of one of his and began to slowly kiss her, exploring the sweet recesses of her velvety mouth with his, holding her face to his. His other hand reached up and folded into her long, dark hair. Lily's hand splayed over his chest, running across the skin there. A wicked grin spread over his face as he lifted the leg that was nestled between hers and he brushed against the wet softness of her opening, stimulating her that way. Ever the challenger, she moaned and began to move herself on his leg, using the friction to bring herself to a higher state of arousal. He swallowed, glancing down at his own swollen sex.

Lillian pulled away from his lips, following his gaze and reached down for it once again. Instead of torturing him with her delightful pink mouth, however, and swiftly moved so that she was straddling either side of his body. Before he could say a word, she had lowered onto him, sending such a shock through him, that he fell, breathless, back onto the carpet and could only watch her through hazy eyes. He loved that she would always challenge him. Using his elbows, he sat up so that he was closer to her level and took one of her breasts into his eager mouth, suckling on the sweet skin there. Her head lulled back with one of her hands tangling into his thick, dark curls.

"Do you like that, Wife?" He asked, watching her reaction closely. The only response was that her lips fell open and a long sound left her. It was almost as if she were in pain, but the slight curve at the corners of her lips told him that he was hitting the right spot. Taking both of her hips into his hands, he thrust roughly up into her in quick, even strokes. She buried her face in his neck and sobbed his name repeatedly while he whispered to her how much he loved her and needed her. She came first, falling limply against his shoulder. James let go and spilled into her again, and again, holding onto her for dear life.

The two of them collapsed back onto the ground, staying together with their hands entwined as they both attempted to breathe. James could feel the erratic beating of her heart and felt her shoulders shaking beneath him. For a moment, he thought she was crying, but when he made her look up at him, she was laughing. His eyes widened.

"What could possibly be so funny at a moment like this, Lillian Westcliff?" James asked, not offended as he brushed her hair away from her face.

"The look on your face when I put my mouth on your—" She giggled. "On your…" Nodding downward, she glanced at their still connected bodies. "I thought you were going to faint."

"Had I known you were such a wonton little minx, I wouldn't have let you have so much bloody control." He told her, kissing her nose and carefully pulling out of her. Slowly, he sat up and rose to his feet, reaching down for her. Picking up her discarded satin dressing gown, he wrapped her in it before reaching for his own soft dressing gown. "I want to show you something." James told her, taking her hand and running his thumb over the wedding ring that now lay on her finger.

"Really? More surprises?" Lily asked, letting him drape an arm around her shoulders and leaning into him while he lifted one of the candles on the night table.

"It's nothing really, just a sort of promise." He assured her, leading her out of the bedroom and into the dark hallway. There was a room directly across from their bedroom that had always been one of his guest bedrooms. James opened the door, letting it swing open. They stepped inside and Lillian looked around with a bemused expression.

"It's empty…" James saw her bite her lip. "You're not intending me to keep my own room, are you?" The disappointment in her voice was clear, making him frown.

"Good _Lord_, no!" He cried, setting the candle down and bringing her close. "I wanted you to imagine, if you can, in that corner," He indicated the corner near the window. "A rocking chair…the toychest will go near the closet, and the cradle—" Lillian let out a noise of surprise, but he could not deny the grin on her face.

"James, are you trying to tell me you're pregnant?" She asked, tickling him. He jumped, but caught her lips in a kiss.

"Very funny, love." He replied. "I'm just trying to tell you…that there's nothing keeping your dreams away from you now." Staring down into the deep hazel of her eyes, "Never again." Lillian's face broke and she leaned up, pressing her lips to his.

"I do love you, James. I'm so glad you waited for me." James realized with a sort of start, that she was now crying.

"There's simply no one else I could ever have married. I'm only glad that Mercer Arnott didn't have the sense of a goat and kept _you_ waiting." He told her honestly. She buried her face in his chest.

"Oh James, I am so sorry about him."

"There's nothing to apologize for." He assured her. "Without him, you wouldn't be who you are. And I wouldn't change you for anything." Sighing, he brushed his lips over her forehead. "Now come back to bed…there's something else I'd like to show you."

* * *

"I think that you would look smashing in green." Bella was saying to Esme, as she helped Esme rifle through her gowns four days after her arrival in England. "You hardly ever wear it."

"I know…I just feel so…earthy when I wear green." Esme told her sister, staring once again at her simple engagement ring - the one that had once belonged to Leila Tiernay. Lord Fletchley had been nothing but kind to her since she had arrived and had even decided to have a party to introduce his son into society that night, which meant that _she _would have to be introduced as his future daughter-in-law. It was to her liking, since Esme did not relish the thought of marriage seeking crazies after _her_ Roger.

"Is that bad?" Bella asked, holding up the sage green dress that she'd been looking at. Esme stared blankly at her sister for a moment. Growing up, Bella had always been pretty, but very uninterested in fashion. Now that she was a Marchioness, she was very nearly always well put together. Her chocolate brown locks were pulled into a low coiffure at the nape of her long neck and her brown eyes were alight with happiness. Esme and Bella had always been very close, and to have her so near now was a blessing. Esme loved seeing her niece and nephew, and of course, Tris. Bella was barely just starting to show her condition, dressed in a very modest day dress of light blue with long sleeves and a lace collar.

Esme only hoped that she looked so well loved a decade from now.

"It's not bad." Esme decided, answering her sister. "Dad always says he first laid eyes on Maman in a sage green dress."

"Yes, but as you recall, their first meeting was not a happy one." Bella laughed, holding the dress out to Esme. "Come, let me fix your hair for you. I've always been so jealous of your hair, you know. It's very similar to the color of Tris's, though more brilliant. His has hints of brown in it, but yours is purely red."

"It's orange, Bella." Esme told her dryly.

"It certainly isn't." Bella disagreed, running a brush lovingly through it. "It's more of a light auburn…with plenty of different hues. It's sort of like a sunrise—"

"What did you say?" Esme asked, fingering the pendant at her throat. Bella smiled.

"Your hair reminds me of the brilliant colors in the sky at sunrise, love." She told her. Esme could not suppress her smile.

"That's what Roger always says." She explained.

"Ah." Bella replied knowingly, barely looking up as the door opened and the figures of an excited little girl and boy flew in, followed by the tall form of their father, ever impeccably dressed.

"There they are!" Bella sang out, stopping only to kiss the top of both heads. "And how was your luncheon with Grandmother?"

"She really can't live much longer, can she?" Tris asked dryly, kissing Bella full on the lips and gingerly brushing her middle with his hand.

"Tristan!" Bella scolded her husband, although she was smiling, despite blushing furiously.

"Afternoon, Esme." Tris added, sinking into a nearby chair and cringing at his daughter's long howl of anger. "Edward, please refrain from clobbering your sister with her own doll. It's ugly."

"But Dad, I'm bored!" Edward complained, pouting. Tris raised an eyebrow at his oldest child and sighed. It was really frightening, how alike the two looked. Though Nessa had the brilliant red of both her father and brother's hair, her eyes and face were completely Bella.

"Darling, why don't you go down and see if Mrs. Briarly will fix you a treat?" Bella offered calmly, pinning a chunk of Esme's hair into a curl. Edward did not need to be told twice. He bounded out of the room at the prospect of possibly having a bit of their housekeeper's treacle tart. Esme remained completely quiet, afraid that she would unwillingly blurt out hers and Roger's plans for the following day. Tomorrow, they would set off for Gretna Green. Esme could hardly stand her excitement at having Roger completely to herself.

They'd barely been able to have a moment together since arriving earlier in the week, since they were spending so much time talking with Lord Fletchley and getting to know his house. Esme had spent the past two days at her sister's house so that Roger could have time with his father, since she was sure they had some things that needed to be sorted.

His father had been nothing but wonderful to her, making her feel welcome with his delightful Irish brogue and warm personality. The house was full of paintings that he, himself had painted. They were quite good too. He'd told them that he'd gone to India on an artistic journey as a young man looking for a muse and had found Leila Khan, whom he'd married without pause. They did not dredge up the matter of his murderous family or their pursuit of his wife and son.

"Mummy, if the new baby is a girl, will Daddy love her more than me?" Nessa asked mindlessly, torturing her poor doll by snarling a brush through it. Esme caught the horrified look on Tris's face out of the corner of her eye. Bella stopped brushing and turned to stare at the four year old girl.

"Nessa Rose, why would you even _think_ that?" Tris asked, moving to kneel in front of his tiny daughter.

"My friend Caroline said that daddies always love little sisters more than big sisters." Nessa explained, looking up at her parents with big, worried brown eyes. Esme bit her lip, wanting to cuddle the sweet child as Bella used to cuddle her. "She said that since _her_ little sister was born, her Mum and Dad don't hardly speak to her."

"Well, that's rubbish." Tris scoffed, sweeping the little girl up into his arms. "I could never love anyone more than I love you, Nessie."

"Even if she's prettier than me?" Nessa asked, staring up into her father's green eyes. Tris looked helplessly at his wife.

"What is it with you women and thinking you aren't pretty enough?" Bella stifled a giggle and turned back to Esme's hair, yanking out a tangle and causing Esme to wince. "Nessa, listen to me. There's no girl on this planet that's prettier than you—"

"Even Mummy?" Nessa glanced at a blushing Bella, who focused _very _hard on a long red curl and pinned it expertly.

"Well, Mummy is _as_ pretty as you are, but not prettier." He informed the child, winking at Bella.

"Oh, Tris…" Bella replied, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling.

"Well, Aunt Esme is pretty too—" Nessa protested.

"Let's make a deal, you and I," Tris said, sitting down with the child and kissing her creamy forehead. "I promise, that no matter who comes along, if you promise not to tell anyone, that I will always love you just a little bit more—"

"Tristan!" Bella scolded, swallowing a laugh. "That's not a good idea to put into her head."

"—than your siblings." Tris finished, grinning wickedly at his wife. "So long as you promise to always love me better than any other boys."

"_Tris!_" Bella cried, muffling her laughter into her hands. Esme could not suppress a grin.

"I promise, Daddy." Nessa nodded with big, brown eyes. "Don't like boys anyway. They're smelly and mean."

"Have I mentioned that you're my favorite?" Tris told his daughter, staring at her face with a look of adoration.

"Tristan Edward Coolidge!" Bella said, though it was more in defeat than anger. Tris set Nessa to her feet. She picked up her doll and left the room, no doubt to go find her brother and snag some treacle tart for herself.

"She is going to want to get married someday, Tris." Bella reminded her husband, finishing Esme's hair and giving it a final pat. Tris buried his face in his hands.

"Don't remind me. Of course, we could lock her away somewhere…a convent perhaps."

"And deprive the world of the beauty she'll be?" Bella teased, making a face at him. "And deny your poor, plain wife having grandchildren?"

"Bella…" Tris growled, standing and walking toward her. "You _know_ I don't like that word."

"Grandchildren?" Bella asked, feigning innocence. Tris caught her around the waist and pulled her close. Esme blushed, looking away.

"_Plain_." Tris spat. "I thought I forbid you to ever use that word in reference to yourself again."

"I'm sure you did, love, but since when do I take orders from you?" Bella replied, baiting him.

"You certainly seemed to obey last night—"

"Ahem." Esme cleared her throat, turning a bright shade of pink.

"Oh, _Es_!" Bella cried, obviously having forgotten that her sister was present. "Sorry, sweetheart."

"She'll learn soon enough." Tris chuckled, kissing Bella full on the lips. "I've seen the way Roger looks at her." At this, Esme became almost as red as her hair, remembering just last week, when Roger had done wicked things to her on her childhood bed.

"_Tris_!" Bella cried again, swatting at her husband's arm. He laughed evilly and left the room after patting her behind. "He didn't mean to embarrass you, darling." Esme could not hold back her smile.

"He didn't." She assured Bella. "And I'm not so naïve as you think." She added, watching her sister's face go from sisterly concern to motherly suspicion.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean, Esme Marie? Have you and Roger been—" Bella looked around quickly. "—_intimate?_"

"No!" Esme cried, a bit too fast for her own liking. The blush in her cheeks betrayed her as always. Bella's eyes were huge.

"Oh my _God!_" Her older sister whispered. "You _have!_"

"We have _not_ made love!" Esme blurted.

"Really." Bella said, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "What then?"

"I'm not telling _you!_" Esme exclaimed, horrified.

"Esme!" Bella gave her a disapproving look.

"Oh come…don't be a hypocrite." Esme told her sister, who turned ghostly pale. "I was an exceedingly perceptive child…I remember when Tris came back for you when you were engaged to Gaston Belgrave. I _heard _you two." Esme watched her sister's skin go from white to flush in a second.

"You dirty little eavesdropper!" Bella hissed, looking thoroughly mollified.

"Bella, I was ten…I had a bad dream and went into your room, but you weren't there. Then on the way back to bed, I heard." Esme shrugged unapologetically, touching her necklace. "I never told, don't worry…your secret's safe with me…but don't lecture me on propriety. I've loved Roger far longer than you ever loved Tris before you were together." Bella was staring at her with a look of astonishment on her lovely face.

"I…I didn't realize…"

"And we haven't made love." Esme confirmed to her. "All we've done is kiss." It wasn't a _complete_ lie. Roger _had _been using his mouth on her. She didn't need to specify where.

"Now _that_ I don't believe." Bella told her, but the look on her face told Esme that she was not going to press the issue. "Time to get dressed. It's almost time to leave."

"Bella," Esme said, taking her chances as Bella buttoned up her evening gown. "What is it like?"

"What do you mean?" Bella asked, frowning as one of the buttons slipped out of her grasp. She bit her bottom lip adorably.

"Sex." Esme said bluntly. Bella's hands dropped from her dress and her brown eyes met Esme's blue ones in the mirror.

"Esme!" Bella turned pink again, but a surprised laugh left her mouth.

"I never used to imagine it could feel good…I know _how_ it works, of course…I bribed Claire into telling me—"

"Of course you did." Bella sighed.

"—but I want to know how it _feels_." Esme said.

"Well," Bella said contemplatively, obviously using the buttons as an excuse to think of an answer. "I really think Maman is the one you should have spoken to about this, but you are eighteen after all…when it is done with the right person, there are no words to describe it. It is truly the best feeling in the world, combined with the most delicious sensations…I can't really explain it, but I'm sure it will be the same for you." Esme remembered the "delicious sensations" that Roger had stirred in her the other night and thought of the following day, when they would set off together to elope in secret. A thrill tingled through her at the thought of having him all to herself, with no interruptions.

Tomorrow was her wedding day.

"Thank you." Esme said to her sister, turning to hug her tightly. Bella laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"It's strange, us being the same height. I used to cuddle you against my side."

"Don't go sentimental on me, Sis." Esme giggled, burying her face into Bella's shoulder. "I love you." She could feel Bella smile into her hair.

"I love you too, Esme."

* * *

**Just a few left! **


	19. Scottish gold

"I do not believe I've ever seen a lovelier woman than you, Esme Marie." Roger told Esme, twirling her in his arms. She made a sound that was dangerously akin to a snort, but smiled up at him in that maddening way that she tended to through her eyelashes.

"Flattery, Monsieur Tiernay." She told him, reaching up to pat his cheek. The party was winding down, but Esme and Roger continued to dance, determined to enjoy each moment. Earlier that day, while Esme had been at Bella's home, Roger had confessed their plans to his father. The elder Roger Tiernay had raised an eyebrow, but his blue eyes had twinkled with happiness.

"It's what she wants." Roger had told him helplessly. His father had laughed heartily at this, patting his shoulder.

"We Tiernay men are useless when it comes to telling the women we love 'no.'"

"I want it too." Roger amended. And he did. The thought of sharing their own private moment as husband and wife was exactly the sort of wedding he'd always wanted. He knew that hiding it from her family once they returned to France would be trying, but she was worth it. He'd never have made it through these past months without Esme's constant support. He'd always loved her, but now he _needed_ her too. It was unnerving. Not to mention, the thought of making her truly his was intoxicating. After the sounds she'd made just the other night, he didn't think there was ever a better sound. The way her eyes had looked up at him afterward, half closed with satisfaction…her rosy lips parted—

"Roger, you're blushing!" Esme said, giggling as the dance ended.

"I told my father." Roger confessed, pulling her to the side. She nodded, but her eyes went wide.

"And?"

"And he gave his blessing…along with some money." Roger admitted, remembering how his father had thrust a wad of bills into his hands and told Roger to give the girl a wedding night to remember in a nice hotel with a proper meal. Roger had tried to protest that he had his own money, but his father would hear none of it.

"Roger, I've missed twenty-seven years…at least let me contribute this much." He'd said, and Roger had relented.

"I'm so glad you have him." Esme mused thoughtfully, leaning against him and resting her head on his arm since he was too tall for her to reach his shoulder.

"Funny, he told me he's glad I have you." Roger chuckled, pulling her closer to his side and dropping a kiss on her head.

"Hmmm…funny how it all works out." Esme said, suppressing a yawn. Roger looked at the clock, seeing how late it was and sighed.

"Come on." He said, urging her toward the door. "We need to get to bed." At her hopeful look, he groaned. "Our _own_ beds." He remedied, making her pout. "Now, get that look off of your face love, tomorrow night is all ours." He could not keep the rasp out of his voice when he spoke of their wedding night.

"I suppose you're right." Esme agreed tiredly, letting him guide her. "Bright and early."

"And then, forever." Roger assured her. "Well, after the pretend ceremony in France, that is, assuming that your father doesn't find us out and murder me." They both laughed at this.

"Simon?" Julienne called out to her husband, who was shaving. She was looking through the drawer in their nightstand for a match. She made a face, smelling Simon's pipe tobacco and pushed aside some old papers.

"Yes, love?" He called back.

"Do you know where I can find some matches?" She asked, holding up what looked like a broken belt buckle and rolling her eyes.

"Julienne, why do you want matches?" Simon asked suspiciously. Her eyes flitted to the window, which indicated the gray, dull morning. The sky was heavy and stormy this morning, casting a shadow throughout the house. Julienne needed to put some light into the room so that she could write without straining to see.

"Just to light a candle." She told him, nearly giving up on the drawer, when the corner of something caught her eye. She tenderly withdrew a small, dust covered picture frame, showing a lovely blonde family of four. Julienne recognized Simon's parents immediately, before her eyes settled on the cherubic faces of the two children who stood beside them.

Rose.

"Nevermind!" Julienne called out to him again, settling on the bed to inspect the photo of the little girl who had so impacted her husband's life. She touched the sweet face of her long dead sister-in-law, feeling a sadness come over her as she pondered the very newly conceived baby who lived inside her, though she could not feel him or her yet.

"Rose." She whispered aloud, imploring the spirit of the little girl to hear her. "Finally I've seen your face. Beautiful, as to be expected…" Julienne sighed. "Your brother loves you so much, even now…so I'm going to ask you to watch over us, little Rose. Keep us safe…especially Simon. I do love him so." Julienne felt her eyes well up with tears as she stared at Rose's lovely face. "I hope it's a girl…" She admitted, touching her flat belly. "I'm going to name her for you. I think you would like that." She wondered if the spirit was a four year old girl or the twenty-eight year old woman that Rose would have become. She liked to think that Rose had aged on the other side and that she was with them still, a constant loving presence.

"She would like that." Simon's voice came from the doorway, where he stood with his towel draped over his shoulder and his face clean shaven. He came toward her, and Julienne noted with a start, that he was smiling. She had never seen him smile when thinking of Rose. He held his hand out for the picture, which she readily handed over.

"I'm sorry…I wasn't snooping, I was looking—"

"No worries, darling." He assured her, sitting beside her. Gingerly, he brushed the dust off of the small picture frame and gazed down at his family. "No more secrets." He added, kissing Julienne's cheek and putting his arm around her. She leaned into the silky feeling of his skin and took in the delightful scent of his aftershave.

"Last night, while you were in the bath, I took a walk in the garden." Simon told her. "I was checking the rosebushes. This summer has been so humid, and one of them just wouldn't bloom."

"I have seen that one." Julienne told him, nuzzling into his neck.

"It was the funniest thing, I was just passing by when I noticed a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. I stopped and looked, and I was surprised to see just one rose had blossomed…but there it was. It's the end of summer and one of my roses is just _now_ blooming."

"Magic." Julienne smiled, feeling his hands play in her long, ebony hair.

"Yes." Simon agreed. "Just like it was magic that night when we danced at Lady Dorset's birthday ball…" He set the picture frame aside and turned to face her on the bed, taking her hands into his. "I think it's time we renewed those vows."

"Oh, Simon…" Julienne breathed, touched beyond words. Tears stung her eyes, though that was a regular occurrence due to the raging hormones.

"I'll go first." He offered, smiling down at her. "I, Simon Gabriel Reynolds, promise to always love you, Julienne. I will cherish you, protect you…" His hand fell to her middle. "And our son or daughter…from harm. I will do my best to keep you happy and healthy. I will trust you with my life, my home and my heart." His eyes bore into hers while his large hand came to rest on her cheek. "Forever." Julienne let out a ragged sigh and willed herself not to sob. Mirroring him, she lifted her opposite hand to his cheek and held it there, feeling the warmth of his smooth skin.

"I, Julienne Olivia Reynolds, promise to always love you." She sighed shakily. "I will cherish you, protect _you_, and our children, from any and all unhappiness. I promise to keep your life full of music, love and laughter. I will do my best to keep you happy and healthy…and full of baked goods." They both chuckled at this. "And to always let you lick the spoon…I will trust you with my life, my home and my heart." She swallowed the lump in her throat, seeing a single tear wind its way down his cheek. "Forever."

"I don't know how I ever got by without you, Julie." He told her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping his arms protectively around her. She felt completely safe and completely loved in that moment.

"You know Simon, I've been thinking." She told him, looking up and pressing kiss under his jaw.

"About what?" He asked contentedly, searching her eyes with his.

"The nursery…" She murmured, watching his reaction carefully.

"Oh?" He asked, playing with her hand.

"I'm thinking pink is a good color." A slow grin came to her face. "I have the slightest notion that it's a girl."

"If it is a boy, he'll never forgive you." Simon laughed, sounding happier than she'd ever heard him sound. "Of course, it's nothing a little paint won't fix."

"We won't need to fix it." Julienne assured him. "I just…know. As for the name—"

"Rose?" He inquired knowingly.

"As if we could name our daughter anything else." Julienne agreed. They both looked toward the window when lightning flashed into the room. She chuckled.

"What?" He asked, lying down and bringing her with him.

"I was just thinking…Claire is probably having fits, being ready to pop _and_ it storming…she hates thunderstorms." Another giggle left her. "Poor Gustave…could we go visit her this morning?"

"As if I could tell you no." Simon told her, laughing.

* * *

"You're sure you want to go out in this?" James asked, eyeing the dark clouds outside the window of their home. Lillian wrapped herself into a cloak and nodded.

"Poor Gustave is probably beside himself between Claire's fear of thunderstorms and the boys running wild." Lillian explained, reaching for his arm as he opened the front door. It was pouring.

"Make a mad dash?" James asked, grinning down at his wife.

"Race you. On three." She nodded. "One—"

"Two—" He said, readying himself. She took off before she said three, throwing a look of triumph back at him, letting her dark locks get wet.

"Cheat!" He cried, though he was not in the least bit angry. He loved the competitiveness that they'd always had with each other…and he was content to let her win every day until he died.

"Sore loser, Westcliff?" She challenged, shrieking when he caught up to her in a couple of strides and threw the door to the carriage open, helping her up into it.

"I didn't lose." He reminded her. "You cheated…_Westcliff._" He chuckled, reminding her that she too was a Westcliff now. James was all too content to pull her rain soaked body against him and cover her mouth with long, searing kisses. She was still gloating from her "win," however.

"I seem to recall you cheating _every_ time we ever played chess. Remember that particularly violent game we played at your mother's?" Lillian reminded him.

"Which time?" James asked, mildly confused. There had been many a rematch.

"The first." She told him. "When I beat you, fair and square…"

"You certainly did not!" He told her, secretly loving the fire that had come into her eyes.

"Oh come _off_ it." Lillian scoffed. "You waited until I wasn't looking and switched two of my pieces."

"You used your bosom to distract me!" He insisted. Her eyes widened incredulously and a startled laugh left her.

"I, _what?_" She yelped.

"You did…you dirty little temptress. I was distracted the entire bloody game because that damned peach color day dress of yours was cut far too low to be respectable—"

"It was the most modest dress I owned!" Lillian chortled in disbelief. "James, I have wondered for years why you were so vacant that day! And lo and behold, you were gaping at my_ breasts?_" She made a noise of mock disapproval. "For _shame_, James Westcliff. But the fact of the matter is, I still beat you…"

"I want a rematch." He insisted, not really serious.

"Oh, _do_ you?" She giggled. "After revealing your weakness? All I have to do is lower my neckline…"

"Don't worry, little wife…I have my own tricks." He purred into her ear, grinning at the quickening of her breath. The carriage came to a stop, indicating they had arrived at their destination. Meeting his eyes in challenge, Lillian looked down at the dress she was wearing today and presently tugged at it so that it displayed her assets more freely.

"After you, _husband._" She grinned. James swallowed hard, tearing the door open and getting out before helping her down. He stole a kiss before he set her to her feet.

They were shown inside, and James was surprised to see Julienne and Simon already there, talking quietly with Gustave. They all looked over at he and Lillian. Simon's face was alight like a child on Christmas.

"What is the occasion?" James asked, helping Lillian take off her rain cloak and forcefully tugging her bodice back up into place. She buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her laughter.

"Julienne fancied a visit with her sister." Simon explained. "Impeccable timing, Claire's just given birth." Lillian let out a shriek of delight, rushing to Julienne.

"And?" She cried. Julienne's lips spread into a lovely smile.

"A girl!" Julienne told her. James looked at Gustave, who was beaming like an idiot.

"Evangeline." He told them. "Vangie. Black hair…"

"He's already stupid with glee." Julienne told Lillian wryly, linking arms with her cousin.

"Well, can we see the tyke?" James asked, following them into the parlor, where the two Chagny sons were both asleep on the sofa.

"They were up all night." Gustave explained apologetically. Julienne sighed, nodding at Lillian as if they'd done this a thousand times before. James watched, mesmerized as each girl scooped up a little boy.

"Bedtime." Julienne said firmly, when Lucien tried to protest. Lillian's charge, Erik, did not even rouse, only nestled into her closer. James felt his heart pull a bit at the sight.

"Won't be much longer before he's too big to be carried, Gustave." Lillian mused, kissing the boy's forehead.

"I've noticed that." Gustave told her, watching them start toward the stairs.

James found himself following his wife up the stairs to the boys' bedroom. For some reason, he felt the need to be beside her while she cared for her cousin's child. Julienne settled Lucien into his bed, tucking the covers over him and leaving the room. Lillian nodded to the bed.

"James, can you pull his blankets back?" She asked. "They probably ran wild all night." A laugh left her.

"How can you be so sure what to do?" James asked, watching impressed as she put him into place, pulling the quilt up to cover Erik's small body.

"James, I am the eldest of seven. I practically raised Marcus and Thomas." Her eyebrows raised. "Who do you think watched the girls while my parents kept producing infants?"

"I wouldn't know the first thing—" He began, but her hazel eyes were kind.

"You _learn,_ sweetheart." She assured him, coming to brush his cheek with the back of her fingertips.

"And you'll have me to help you." She insisted, taking his hand and gently closing the door behind them. Gustave already had brought the baby girl into the parlor and Julienne was taking her turn. Lillian left him and rushed to stare down at the infant with her cousin.

"She's going to look _exactly_ like Claire." Julienne mused, brushing the baby's thick, dark hair with her fingertips.

"She is _beautiful_." Lillian agreed. "Then again, how could you and Claire produce anything but spectacular children?"

"Funny, I keep telling Claire the same thing, but she just rolls her eyes at me." Gustave chuckled, settling himself into a chair to relax.

"Yes well, Claire has never relished the fact that she's the most gorgeous woman on the planet." Julienne laughed, looking across at her husband. James noted the changes in his best friend's face. He was no longer tense, or hard. The lines of stress on his face seemed to have given way to a youthful bliss that he hadn't ever shown. The way he stared at his wife reminded James of how he always looked at Lily.

"It's good that she's getting some sleep now." Lillian said, settling onto the sofa beside her cousin. Gustave yawned, but he still looked sickeningly happy.

"I sent for some food." He informed them all. "I hope you're hungry."

"I am!" Julienne insisted, patting her middle. James vaguely remembered something about them learning they were expecting. Lillian's eyes lit up at the prospect of food.

"Oh, thank goodness, I'm starved!" She agreed. James stared at her incredulously.

"Good Lord, Woman! You just devoured an enormous breakfast!" He exclaimed. Lillian shrugged.

"I have a healthy appetite. Sue me." Her eyes were blazing still from their earlier sparring. James could not suppress a chuckle as she tugged her bodice downward just a bit.

* * *

"Wake up, sweetheart." Roger's gentle voice lulled Esme out of sleep. "We've arrived." Esme groggily lifted her head from Roger's chest and stared out the window at the darkening sky. They'd arrived just before nightfall, it seemed, after nearly 14 hours of driving. In a way, she was glad they'd set out before sunrise, but she was exhausted. Roger opened the door to the carriage, easily stepping down and reaching up for her. She let him lift her down and set her on her feet, yawning as her feet made contact with the door.

"Do you want to go inside and rest or go straight to the shop?" Roger asked, seeing her exhaustion. Esme's eyes widened, suddenly alert.

"I want to get married!" She told him resolutely, loving the way his eyes lit at the thought. He nodded.

"I thought you'd say that." A low chuckle left his throat. The village was extremely small. Though it had once simply been a village, it was now known for quick weddings and honeymoons. Esme's heartbeat quickened at the sight of the quaint looking blacksmith shop, which she suspected was hardly used for its original purpose and instead, had become a tourist attraction. For centuries, lovers had fled to this place and said their vows in front of an anvil. "We need to check into the hotel first."

They walked into an interesting looking building, with a rusty sign hanging over the door. Roger chuckled.

"It looks like this is the most luxury we'll be getting here." He shook his head. "Gretna Green…Heaven help me." Esme giggled, following him into the establishment, named _The Marriage Bed._

"How appropriate." She quipped, stepping inside. The concierge, or rather, the burly looking man who seemed to run the place, looked up at them knowingly.

"Getting' married, are yeh?" He grinned at the pair. Roger nodded.

"Sign the registry, an' I'll 'ave someone show yeh ter yer room." He said, thrusting a piece of paper forward at them. Roger looked down at Esme, his lips half curving into a smirk. She stifled another laugh into his arm. Roger swiftly signed the hotel registry and they were shown up the stairs into a modest room by what could have been the man's identical twin, though Esme suspected it was a woman, as indicated by the dress and apron.

"We'll 'ave someone come start a fire before yeh get back." She told them gruffly. "Will yeh require a meal?"

"Please." Roger affirmed graciously, giving her one of his most charming smiles. Esme watched the woman eye him longingly, before nodding.

"The blacksmith shop closes at nine, so yeh best get to it." Esme _thought_ she was smiling. "Lovely babies the two of yeh will make." She left, closing the door behind her and both Esme and Roger let out the laughter they'd been holding back.

"She looked like she wanted to eat you!" Esme chortled, burying her face into the front of his coat. Roger chuckled, catching her chin in his gentle grasp.

"We'd best go." He told her. "Unless you want to wait until tomorrow—" Esme took his hand and threw the door open again.

"Not a chance!" She exclaimed, pulling him out the door and down the stairs again. The night air was still warm and slightly damp, though it was now fully dark outside. Esme felt herself hesitate at the walkway to the small shop that was across the way from the hotel. She wasn't scared, not in the least, but now that it was finally happening, she was terrified to believe it. Roger's hands moved to rest lightly on her shoulders.

"Now or never, lover." He whispered into her ear, pressing his warm lips to it and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"Now." She agreed, turning to look up into his beautiful face. He looked like a dark angel with his black hair tumbling into his eyes. The hazel of his eyes was almost ethereal in the dim light coming from within the blacksmith shop. They turned together and Esme noticed a sign.

_Ring bell for service._

Roger swiftly rang the bell that had been provided. A few moments later, a thin woman answered, staring at them with her lips pursed expectantly.

"Wedding?"

"Yes." Roger answered, draping his arm lazily over Esme's shoulders. The girl nodded, turning slightly.

"We've got another!" She called out, nearly causing Esme to jump clear out of her skin.

"Last one, tonight!" A male voice called back. "Bring 'em back."

"This way." The girl waved them in, closing the door and taking them into a larger room. There was a giant black anvil at the head of the room, near a fireplace. A man in worn, but presentable clothing stood to the side, inspecting something closely.

"Will yeh be needin' teh buy rings?" He asked, without looking at them. Esme looked up at Roger for guidance.

"Yes." He said, stepping forward. "And perhaps a bouquet of flowers for my bride." Esme felt her face flush deep red. While the so called blacksmith and two ladies set about gathering their things, Esme leaned wryly over to Roger.

"You do know that they're going to try to wrench any penny they can out of us, right?" She warned. Roger nodded, chuckling.

"Don't worry, darling. We have plenty of money." His hand covered hers, twining his fingers with her own. While Roger and the blacksmith worked out payment, Esme was approached by the second, sallow looking woman.

"Flowers for yer hair?" She asked, holding up a crown of small white flowers.

"She'll take it." Roger said, handing another bill to the blacksmith and taking the crown. He put it on Esme's head. She was trying very unsuccessfully not to laugh at the silliness of it all.

"I'll let yeh have the witnesses for free. My niece and daughter will be happy ter stand in."

"How…thoughtful." Roger agreed, swallowing a grin. Esme coughed to hide another laugh. "You wanted this, Esme Marie." He reminded her.

"I still do." She giggled.

"Alright, now that negotiatin' is done, let's get on wi' the ceremony." The blacksmith instructed. "Both parties, step up to the anvil." Esme shared a look with Roger, taking his hand and walking to the large black anvil. The laughter was suddenly gone and replaced with what seemed to be a flock of wild birds that had taken residence in her chest. Her heart was beating wildly. Vaguely, Esme thought of her parents, who would probably not have allowed her to come to England with Roger had they had an inkling of what she was up to.

"Dearly beloved, yeh be gathered here to join together this man and this woman—" The blacksmith eyed Esme. "—yeh are of an age, aren't yeh?"

"Eighteen." Esme inserted for him.

"Splendid." He continued. "To be married. If any man 'as just cause as to why they should not marry, speak now or forever 'old yer peace." Esme would have looked around, but she doubted the blacksmith's niece or daughter had anything to add, so she looked up at Roger instead. His eyes were very serious now, all laughing gone. The blacksmith went on.

"I require and charge yeh both to confess any imprediment as teh why yeh may not lawfully be wed." When neither of them spoke, the blacksmith nodded.

"Maeve, the ribbon!" He said to the taller, sallow looking girl who had given Esme the crown of flowers. The girl jumped and quickly came forth with a white ribbon. "Turn to face each other." The blacksmith instructed. "Take hands." Esme and Roger obliged as Maeve expertly wrapped the ribbon around their clasped hands.

"Now yeh are bound together." The blacksmith told them, looking up at Roger. "Wilt thou 'ave this woman for yer wife? Wilt thou love 'er, and comfort 'er, and keep 'er, in sickness and in 'ealth? Forsaking all others, keep thee only unto 'er, so long as yeh both shall live?" Roger nodded, meeting Esme's eyes. She felt her face heat up in an instant.

"I will." He promised quietly, squeezing her hand. To her surprise, Esme felt her breath hitch and realized she was choking up. Quickly, she blinked and swallowed, trying to regain some semblance of calm. She knew Roger had noticed. He always noticed.

"With thou 'ave this man for yer 'usband? Wilt thou love 'im, and comfort 'im, and keep 'im, in sickness and in 'ealth? Forsaking all others, keep thee only unto 'im, so long as yeh both shall live?"

"I will." Esme whispered, afraid of what her voice would sound like if she tried to speak louder. The blacksmith look expectantly at Roger.

"Repeat after me." He said. Roger did as he was told.

"I, Roger, take thee, Esme, to my wedded wife. To have and to hold, for richer or poorer; for better or worse; in sickness and in health; to love and cherish, till death us depart; and thereunto, I plight thee my throth." If it had been anyone else's wedding, Esme would have descended into laughter by this point, but since it was her own, the meaning did not go unnoticed. She was very nearly married to Roger, whom she had always loved.

"Yer turn, lass." The blacksmith said, looking down at her and saying the vows for her.

"I, Esme, take thee, Roger, to my wedded husband. To have and to hold; for richer or poorer; for better or worse; in sickness and in health; to love and cherish, till death us depart; and thereunto, I plight thee my throth." Her voice cracked on the last part, but somehow she wasn't embarrassed. She knew Roger felt the same way, she could see it in his set face, his blazing hazel eyes.

"Mary, the rings." The blacksmith said. When the girl did not move from her reverie of watching Esme and Roger, he stamped his foot, making Esme start. "Mary!" He bellowed. "The rings!"

"Sorry, Da!" She said quickly, bounding forward.

"Scottish gold." The blacksmith informed them proudly. "Nothing better." He looked again at Roger. "Place the ring on her finger and repeat the vow." Roger carefully took the ring out of Mary's hand and slid the smooth gold easily onto Esme's finger. It fit nicely.

"With this ring, I thee wed." Roger gave her half a grin, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. Esme took his ring out of the girl's hand and slid it onto Roger's elegant finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed." She repeated, trembling, unable to take her eyes off of his.

"I now pronounce yeh 'usband an' wife. Yeh may kiss yer bride." With their hands still bound, Roger used his free hand and gently guided Esme's face to his own, placing a long, reverent kiss on her lips. That's when she felt the tears begin to fall, but she didn't care.

She was Roger's wife.


	20. Full Circle

**Crap...caught an error. Earlier in the story...I had said that Meg was pregnant with Anna when Rose died. Since Anna is ten years younger than Simon, this is impossible. Meg was pregnant with Grace. Sorry! Will fix later. **

* * *

Esme looked up at her husband – could you really believe it? – her _husband_, with big, watery eyes and grinned. Their right hands were still bound together with the white ribbon. (The blacksmith had offered to sell it to them for a small fee.)

"The old tradition is that yer supposed ter consummate the marriage before the ribbon is untied—"

"How could we?" Esme asked aloud, looking at their crossed arms, confused. Roger laughed out loud, kissing her forehead.

"We'll keep the ribbon, but we're not leaving it on while we—" He stopped, clearing his throat. "—we'll take our chances." He finished, quickly untying it and handing it to Esme while he finished paying. The girls brought some documents out, which Esme and Roger both had to sign. It was all very official for a few minutes and then, they were on their way, saying goodbye to Maeve and Mary and the blacksmith, whom Esme never did learn the name of.

Roger took her hand as they began to walk back to the hotel, remaining silent. Esme looked up at his lovely, handsome face and let out a long sigh. Roger heard, and turned to look at her with alarm in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked, stopping and taking her face into his hands. "Not having second thoughts now, are you?" Esme's face melted into a smile and she shook her head.

"No, you're stuck with me, I'm afraid." She teased, pulling him by his lapels to her and standing up on her toes to kiss him. His sharp intake of breath told her that he couldn't have been happier. "Now, I think," She reached up and touched the hollow of his throat, "that it is time for us to go upstairs and go to bed." Roger stopped breathing. Esme wanted to giggle at him, but she held her composure admirably.

"I like that idea, Mrs. Tiernay." Roger purred into her ear, making her tremble in anticipation. They practically ran into the door of the hotel, giving the manager a nod.

"Congratulations." The man barked, barely looking at them. "You'll be wantin' that meal, I presume."

"I would wait an hour" Roger grinned wickedly, meeting Esme's eyes. He was up to something. Before she could ask, Roger had thrown her up into his arms, making her shriek in surprise.

"Roger!" She heard herself gasp, wrapping her arms around his neck, making him chuckle.

"On second thought," Roger added, "Make it two."

Esme did not allow herself to look back at the hotel manager, blushing into the warmth of her husband's skin. Roger carried her into their room as if she weighed nothing more than a feather, locking the door behind him. He set her down in front of the bed, and began to loosen his cravat. Esme swallowed hard, taking the wreath of flowers off of her head and sitting on the bed. She had no idea what to do now that she had him all to herself.

He knelt before her, staring up into her face with his intoxicatingly exotic eyes and smiled.

"Esme…" He murmured, staring at her as if she were some kind of elaborate dessert. "My wife." Esme could not hold back any longer, leaning forward and pressing a hungry kiss to his mouth. He held back, pulling away to look at her.

"No." He told her. "There are things that need to be said." Roger held her face lovingly and stared up at her with a reverence that had always been there. Almost as if he were afraid she would disappear. "I have unknowingly been waiting for this day since you were born. I think I always knew deep down that we were meant for each other, though I denied it to myself because we were both so young. I don't want you to ever be unsure—"

"Roger…" Esme soothed, running her finger over his lips. "I am _sure_. I am so sure that I am actually am at a loss now. This is what I've wanted forever, and I have _no_ idea what to do." She laughed at herself. "I am completely lost."

"I'll show you." Roger assured her. "We'll learn together."

"But you've been with other women." Esme heard herself mutter, feeling jealous at the thought of _her_ Roger kissing someone else.

"Yes. Before I knew how much I loved you, I was with others. But I'm not sorry." Roger told her firmly. "They helped me see that I could never ever be happy with anyone but you."

"Oh, Roger…" The jealousy was gone in an instant. Esme trailed her fingers over his clothed chest. "I want you so badly and I don't even know what I want…"

"Let me help you." Roger said, placing his hands on both sides of her waist and turning her away from him, beginning the slow disrobing process. Too many buttons. She let out a sound of frustration. "Patience." He whispered into her ear, and she felt the silky feel of something brush her earlobe. A small mewl came out of her before she could think. She heard a low chuckle rumble near her ear. Finally, after the longest few minutes of her life, she was freed from the oppressive garment, letting it fall away from her body.

Turning to face him, Esme kept her eyes locked with Roger's as she unhooked the front of her corset. She decided to be shy later, when her senses had returned, though she knew she was blushing still. Once that had been discarded, she removed her chemise and drawers and stood defiantly in front of Roger, wearing nothing but her stockings. Raising an eyebrow at him, she reached forward, ignoring his slightly dazed expression.

"Your turn." She informed him, climbing into his lap with her legs on either side of his waist as she began to unbutton his shirt. Blankly, his hands moved up her back and slowly back down to feel the curve of her bottom.

"Esme…" Roger hissed, staring up at her as she unbuttoned his shirt. "Slow…down." He sounded like he was in pain. Esme watched as helped her remove his shirt and coat all at once, leaving him shirtless for the first time in front of her. Esme could not stop staring at him. She'd always known that Roger was muscular. He was well over six feet tall and broad, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the actual sight of him. There seemed to be no end to the rippling of muscles and beautiful amber colored skin. He looked more like a laborer than a lawyer.

"You're beautiful." She told him, stroking his hair back from his face. Roger arched into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I could say the same for you, Esme Marie." He replied, running his hands over her thighs and bottom again. "I knew you would be lovely, but these _curves_." He let out a noise that could only be called a growl. "_When_?"

"At least a year ago." Esme laughed, kissing along his jaw. "When did you become…" She gestured to his chest. "_This?_" Roger looked at her in confusion.

"What?"

"Have you ever _seen_ yourself Roger? I want to take a bite out of you!" She trailed a finger over his sinewy, flat stomach. His hands tightened on her waist, and in the next instant, she was on her back below him.

"Have you seen _yourself_ Esme?" Roger asked, grazing his finger tips over the mound of her breast. Esme's eyes widened at the touch and watched as the tip hardened and puckered. "You remind me of Botticelli's Venus, only you're far more beautiful…"

"Oh, I doubt that—" Esme stopped talking when his mouth lowered and his tongue replaced his fingertips, swirling around the pink peak. "Oh, that's…"

"You like that?"

"Mmm." Was Esme's only response. Roger smiled against her skin and moved to the other.

"You taste delicious. Better than any dessert." He informed her, breathing against her fevered skin.

"Even chocolate cake?" Esme asked, smiling and arching upward. She raked her fingers through his silky hair.

"Even chocolate cake." He purred, moving back up to her lips and taking them possessively. She let out a long sigh into his mouth, moving her hand down his back and making a sound of irritation when she found he still had his pants on.

"Shh…" He told her, pulling back and slowly rolling her stockings off of her legs moving his lips along the skin with each pull. When he'd thrown them to the side, he stood up and removed his own pants and undergarments. Esme propped herself on her elbows and watched, fascinated with every inch of new skin he revealed. Her eyes widened at the sight of his naked body, fully revealed to her. She had never seen a naked man besides the pictures she had seen in a medical book of her father's. It was a far cry from what had been diagrammed in that book.

"Oh my God…" Esme heard herself say aloud as Roger settled beside her again.

"What's the matter?" He asked, looking down at her in concern. She could feel the warm, smooth feeling of his arousal pressed against her hip. Instead of intimidating her, however, it only made her more curious.

"I've just never—" Esme shook her head, laughing at herself, "—it's not what I—" She looked up into Roger's concerned face. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He told her hoarsely.

"Could I touch it?" Esme asked him, putting her hand cautiously on his stomach.

"If you want." Roger choked. Esme studied him for a moment, seeing his eyes, darkened with lust. It sent a tremor through the pit of her stomach. She slid her hand over his smooth skin until she found the courage to grasp it fully, marveling at how thick it was. He let out a long hiss, making Esme smile.

"Could I…taste it?" She asked, watching closely as his eyes opened wide, he was practically panting as she squeezed him.

"On one condition." He managed to say, his eyes half closing.

"Being?" She challenged. He was too fast for her. He leaned forward, taking her hips in his hands again and swinging her easily around so that she was settled over his face.

"Being, I get to taste you too." He murmured against her, and she immediately felt him lapping at her as he had before. Esme lost her breath, feeling as if she were floating for a moment. Once she remembered to breathe, she caught sight of his throbbing appendage once more and remembered her own request.

Falling forward, she took him into her hands again and tentatively flicked her tongue over the taut skin there. Roger cried out beneath her, bringing a sensation over her that she'd never felt. She felt wicked and sinful and wonderful all at once and took him into her mouth fully as far as she could. Though he made another delightful sound, she realized that she too was writhing in agony over him, straining for something. With the addition of his finger, she sat straight up, closing her eyes and letting out a long, drawn out sound, glad that they were alone in this hotel rather than somewhere they could be caught. Of course, they weren't doing anything wrong. They were married.

"Roger…no…" She panted, moving off of him and looking down at his flushed, beautiful face. His eyes filled with worry as he reached up for her. She leaned over him, her long red curls tumbling down and surrounding them.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked quietly. Esme shook her head.

"No…" She whispered, caressing his cheek lovingly. "I didn't want it to be over yet." Roger smiled up at her, raising his head to kiss her nose.

"Don't worry, lover…we've just begun." He assured her. Esme sighed in relief, letting him hold her for a moment while she trembled with need.

"I love when you call me that." She confessed. "Lover…it makes me feel…wicked."

"Mmm…you are…" He told her, stroking her hair soothingly. "You're a seductive little minx and you drive me absolutely wild, Esme Marie."

"I want you to…I want—" She started, but Roger put his finger to her lips.

"I know." He told her, lacing their fingers together. The sight of him wearing a wedding ring made her weak with desire for him. Roger tenderly turned her over to lay on her back again and massaged below the nest of fiery curls between her legs, sending her into the early waves of pleasure.

"I know it's going to hurt." She admitted to him. "My sisters told me about it."

"Of course they did…" Roger chuckled, coaxing her legs apart. "But it doesn't make me any less sorry to hurt you. I'll try to be careful—"

"I don't care. I just need you…now." Esme pleaded, letting him bring her to climax and breathing heavily as he settled there, holding himself up on his elbows. She put her hands on his shoulders to brace herself and closed her eyes waiting for the pain. He pressed forward slowly and waited. "Please…" Esme cried, opening her eyes and seeing his own need. Finally, he embedded himself completely and to her surprise, she felt no pain. It was different, of course, but it didn't hurt. Roger seemed to sigh in relief, moving again within her and causing a delightful friction. At the sound that left her, he was encouraged and began to move in earnest. Watching his face was enough to make her tingle with sensation.

She'd never known she could get such pleasure out of seeing him enjoy it too. Roger crushed his lips back to hers and reached down, cupping her bottom. Esme wrapped her legs tightly around his middle and clung to him for dear life, ignoring the layer of sweat that had formed on both of them. Screaming his name, she relaxed fully and it came again. A moment after, Roger shuddered and collapsed against her, moving to the side and pulling her with him. They remained silent for a few minutes, but it was he who spoke first.

"I love you…" He said into her hair. Esme could not wipe the smile from her face if she tried.

"I love _you_, my Roger." She agreed, wrapping her arm around his waist and resting her cheek against the warmth of his chest.

* * *

Simon and Julienne were the last to arrive for his mother's birthday party, though he'd been told that Grace had just arrived with her husband, Christian, whom his family referred to fondly as Chris. He wished he could say he knew the man that his sister had married, but he'd been a stubborn ass and had disapproved simply because Christian was an artist, a writer to be exact. Simon had found a new appreciation for the profession considering that he was now married to one.

They were all seated in the parlor, talking animatedly with each other. His mother was across the room in an instant, taking Julie into her arms first, no doubt to inspect that she was eating well and looked happy. There had been grave threats from his darling mother warning him that Julienne was to be kept happy or she would make his life miserable. Not that Simon wanted anything other than to see his wife smile all the time. Since they'd admitted they loved each other, he never wanted to see her cry again.

"Simon..." His mother said as he bent to kiss her cheek.

"Happy Birthday, Mother…" He told her, making her smile. Simon had always adored his mother's sunny smile paired with her big, blue eyes. Though he looked almost exactly like his father, he rather thought that his eye color was a closer blue to his mother's, which were more of a cerulean rather than icy dark blue like Pa's.

"Thank you, love." She beamed up at him before taking Julienne to the sofa and sitting with her. The two began chatting easily.

"I have never seen you smile for so long." Grace told him, standing and moving toward him. Simon filled with remorse at the sight of her. She'd always reminded him so much of Rose, and his treatment of her over the past year was abhorrent.

"Gracie." Was all he could manage to say.

"Good to see you, brother." She told him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest. Simon let out the breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"I'm sorry." He told her honestly.

"I know." She smiled into his chest. "I forgive you." Pulling away, she gestured for her husband to join her.

"Simon, this is Chris. You two have never officially met." Simon immediately shook the man's hand.

"My fault." He assured his brother-in-law.

"Great to finally meet you." Christian replied, smiling and putting his arm around Grace's shoulders.

"We haven't been around much lately because Chris's novel has just been published and he was working with the publishing company to release it." Grace informed him proudly, staring up at her husband. Christian shook his head modestly, but could not hold back his grin.

"What sort of a story is it?" Julienne asked, moving over to join them and lacing her arm through Simon's.

"A murder mystery." Christian said, and Julienne gasped.

"Oh! I love those sorts of books…I'm just beginning to outline one myself. It's more of a memoir really, though." She explained, squeezing Simon's arm.

"You're a writer?" Christian asked in surprise.

"Probably the most talked about writer in Paris at the moment." Simon informed him. Julie rolled her eyes, reddening.

"_Really, _Simon." She said, but he could not deny the small indication of a smile at the corner of her lovely mouth.

"Chris, Julienne wrote _Evanna's Secret._ That story that was so popular for the past few months." Grace told him. Christian's eyes widened in recognition.

"That was you? I've been so busy, I missed the last few issues, but Grace kept me up to date on the progress each week." He chuckled. "It was quite an intriguing story."

"I thought so." Grace agreed. "It was amazing. I was so glad when I saw it was you."

"I—" Julienne stared at her, touched, "Thank you."

"So you two are expecting?" Grace asked, changing the subject excitedly. Julie nodded, blushing again.

"Probably in late March." She told Grace. "It's still really early."

"How wonderful!" Simon's sister exclaimed, clasping her hands in delight.

"We're going to name her Rose." Simon heard himself say quietly. Julienne looked at him, shocked.

"Simon…" Grace said, looking up at him with tender eyes. Though she hadn't been born yet, both the girls knew all about their long dead older sister. She, of all people, knew how hard it was for Simon to get past that, much less speak about it.

"That's lovely." Meg said. When Simon looked at his mother, her eyes were sparkling with tears. "She would have loved that."

"I think so too." Simon agreed, guiding his wife to sit and sinking beside her. "I hope our daughter shows interest in the ballet too." He added, making his mother simply glow with happiness. His father nodded approvingly.

"A writer and a ballerina…we certainly have given little Rose big shoes to fill." Brett said, smiling, though Simon did not miss the sentiment in his father's voice.

"I must say, I'm proud of you, Simon." Meg said, leaning forward and taking his hand. "Most men hope for a boy first." Simon shrugged.

"With a wife like Julienne, a house full of girls might not be so bad." He teased, at which point Julie looked up at him in mock horror.

"Simon, how many children are you intending me to have?" She asked, eyeing him. He chuckled, touching her cheek.

"As many as you'll allow." He teased. Anna, who had remained silent throughout, stood and sighed.

"I'm tired…I think I'll retire early." Simon watched her walk away, thinking it odd for his sister to be so quiet. Grace met his eyes, showing the same concern.

"Are you feeling well, dear?" Meg asked, rushing toward her youngest and feeling her head. Anna nodded.

"Just tired." She said, kissing her mother's cheek and leaving the room. Brett looked up at his wife, worried.

"That's not like her."

"I know." Meg frowned, sighing. "Let's give her some space. She's been somewhat distant these past weeks."

"Really?"

"I think she's in love." Grace mused aloud. Everyone turned to look at her. "She's been corresponding with someone she's told me."

"What? With whom?" Simon asked suspiciously.

"How should I know?" Grace asked, rolling her eyes affectionately at him. "Here we go again…" She looked at Julienne sympathetically. "I don't know how you can live with him…he's unbearable." Simon scowled at his sister. Julie's hand tightened around his.

"He just cares too much." She said softly, smirking to herself. "It's none of your business whom Anna does or doesn't have affections for." She shook her head. "My older brother was the same way with all of us. He still is most of the time. Luckily he has three daughters to worry about now, but every now and then he pokes his nose into our business." The two girls shared a laugh.

"And," Simon's father broke in, "Anna has a father to worry about her. Don't worry Grace…Simon will have his own daughter to worry about soon."

"Assuming Julienne has a girl." Meg added, smiling. "Which reminds me!" She got up and crossed the room to retrieve something off of the railing. Simon watched her carrying a yellow piece of fabric. "This," She said, sharing a wink with her husband, "is the blanket that your Grandmother Antoinette made for _you_ while I was expecting you. I thought you should have it." Simon got up immediately and took it from her. He'd seen this blanket a million times before, but the fact that his mother had kept it for him, even adding to it from the looks of it, meant worlds to him.

"This is supposed to be _your_ birthday." He scolded, though he wasn't really scolding. "Thank you." She pulled him down for a tight embrace and sobbed happily into his shoulder. Simon could not suppress a smile.

"Having the three of you here and happy is the best present I could have ever asked for." Simon kissed the top of her head and looked over at his sister's husband.

"Chris, come tell me about your book." He said, winking at his sister, who beamed.


	21. The Damsel and the Villain

**Goodness, I can't help myself with these two. Oh, and for anyone who is interested, I AM writing a sequel to this. I've already begun outlining. It will only follow one couple though, so I'm not sure how long it will be, which also means that the epilogue for this will be very vague. I'm going to say two more chapters. Enjoy!**

* * *

Esme stood near her sister at the dessert table in the ballroom at Keating Manor. Bella had decided to throw Esme and Roger a farewell engagement ball since they would be returning to France the following day. Esme had been married to Roger for a full week, and had shared his bed with him every night since they'd returned. Of course, Lord Fletchley was the only person who knew their secret. It pained Esme to remove her wedding ring each morning and simply wear the engagement ring that she'd been given, though Roger made sure to reassure her that their bond was more than a simple piece of gold on their fingers.

It was horribly difficult to hide the fact that she was married from her older sister as well, since Bella had always had the uncanny ability to read her like an open book. Esme had avoided direct conversation with her as much as possible, glad that her cousins and Tris were also there to distract her. It was always wonderful to see her Aunt and Uncle, the Viscount and Viscountess LaSalle and their children, Rafe, Colin and Gabrielle. Rafe had been married for two years now, and he had just welcomed a second son with his wife Elizabeth. Gabrielle was newlywed to a successful businessman. Colin was the only one who remained single, at thirty years old, which was what Bella and Gabrielle were discussing at the moment.

"—he's been acting very strange lately." Gabrielle told Bella, eyeing her dark haired brother with thinly veiled suspicion. "He's been working long hours. I think he's seeing someone late at night." Looking around, she leaned in conspiratorially. "Ever since he came back from visiting France, he's been moody…distracted."

"Maybe he's just busy at work." Bella offered, and Esme forced her eyes away from Roger for a moment to look toward where Colin was standing amid a group of lively young ladies, looking as bored as ever. "It is odd to see him so quiet. Usually, he's acting like an awful rake." Gabrielle mused.

"Maybe he's fallen in love." Esme interjected, suddenly. The two women turned to at her in surprise. "Oh come…" Esme laughed. "You know the signs as well as I do."

"You know…you may be onto something, Esme." Bella nodded. "Tris was the same way when he…when we…when I—" Bella faltered, obviously remembering that Esme had confessed knowing her darkest secret, turned a startling shade of red. "You know what I mean."

"Do we?" Gabrielle giggled, elbowing Esme good naturedly. "You're _glowing_, Bella!" Bella swatted at her, rolling her eyes.

"Oh _hush_." She hissed, but could not keep the secret smirk off of her face. The three women noticed someone standing in front of them and Esme recognized Bella and Tris's butler standing before them with an apologetic look on his face.

"Alastor?" Bella acknowledged him worriedly, noting the concerned look on the man's face.

"Forgive me, my lady, but Mr. Carrington is outside the ballroom, quite intoxicated, and the Marquess is attending to another matter, I'm afraid. He won't leave until he says goodbye…utterly insists." Bella sighed, putting her hand up calmly, the very picture of dignity. Esme could only pray that when she was the Countess of Fletchley, that she would be so elegant.

"It's alright, Alastor. Of course." Bella glanced over at Esme, who could not deny the slight panic in her sister's amber eyes. Esme followed her out of the room, remaining close at Bella's side as if she could protect her somehow. Something in her expression told Esme that Bella was not altogether comfortable with this man. They came upon a tall, sallow looking fellow with thinning blonde hair and an obvious overbite. His eyes sort of reminded her of those on a goldfish, wide and staring.

"Mr. Carrington." Bella said, unable to hide the nervous trill in her voice. "I hear you're not feeling well." The man smiled, a worse sight, revealing crooked front teeth. Esme cringed, wishing very much that Roger was nearby. Something in her gut told her that this was not going to go well.

"I need to speak with you, urgen'ly." Mr. Carrington slurred into her poor sister's lovely face. To Bella's credit, she barely even cringed at his breath, but stared down with wide eyes as his spindly hand which had wrapped around her slight wrist.

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Mr. Carrington." She insisted weakly. Esme looked around the dim hallway, realizing that they were alone. Mr. Carrington had obviously not noticed Bella's younger sister standing behind her. Esme began to back away to find someone.

"But I need to tell you, somethin'." He said, pulling her by the arm further into the hallway.

"No listen, I—" Bella shrieked as he pulled her into the next room. Esme whirled around, terrified of what the man was trying to do to her poor sister in his drunken state. She flew through the ballroom, tapping the first man she saw on the shoulder. Her cousin Colin gazed tiredly down at her.

"Little Esme!" He exclaimed, brightening at the sight of her. She stared up at him breathlessly.

"Have you seen Lord Keating?" She gasped, panting up at him. "I need his help!"

"Esme, what's wrong?" Colin asked, staring down at her with worried silver eyes.

"It's Bella, she—" Esme cut off, seeing Tris and Roger moving toward them with purpose. They must have heard.

"Where is she?" Tris's voice was dark with distress. Esme exhaled in relief, wanting to rush forward into Roger's arms.

"In the back hallway with—"

Tris tore away through the door without another word, followed swiftly by Roger. Esme gave her cousin another look before darting out into the hallway. Tris was stalking down the hall, looking for his wife.

"In the library!" Esme cried, meeting Roger's eyes tearfully, unable to hold back her fear. He looked as if he wanted to come to her, but she shook her head forcefully, gesturing for him to help Bella first. Inching toward the library, she'd only just caught a glimpse of Mr. Carrington, who had her sister pinned against the wall, trying to kiss her while she protested.

Esme never wanted to hear the sound again. Tris tore across the room in an instant, throwing the man off of his wife and punching him square in the face while Roger tended to Bella, putting a protective arm around her and turning her away, protecting her from seeing. Esme rushed over to them and put her arms around Bella as well, feeling Roger's arms close over both of them. A sickening feeling of relief rippled through her as he looked down at her with dark eyes.

"You shouldn't be in here, Esme." He told her, causing her to glare defiantly at him.

"I _don't _care." She challenged, daring him to tell her otherwise, feeling Bella tremble as Tris continued to pummel the pathetic Mr. Carrington.

"Tris, _no_!" Bella cried, finally finding her voice when she looked up. "You'll kill him!"

"That was my intent." Tris answered her gruffly, though Esme could see his resolve crumbling as Mr. Carrington collapsed on the floor, heaving. His nose was broken, to be sure and at least one of his eyes would be black in the morning. Tris paused to look back at his wife and Esme saw the anger leave him as quickly as it had come. Roger swiftly traded places with Tris and dragged the man onto his feet and out of the room. Esme let go of her sister as she was pulled into Tris's arms. He checked her over worriedly.

"Did he hurt you?" Tris asked raggedly, catching his breath while he examined her.

"N-No…" Bella sobbed, collapsing into tears. Esme had never seen her sister this terrified, feeling her own eyes begin to overflow. "He just frightened me is all." Bella allowed her husband to pull her close to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, burying her face into the front of his shirt. "I'm sorry…" Bella whispered repeatedly, gripping fistfuls of his jacket in her tiny hands.

"I should have been with you. There was a fight that Roger and I had to break up—" Tris's voice broke. "I'm so _sorry_, sweetheart."

"…love you so much." Bella was saying at the same time. Tris buried his face in her hair, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"I love you more than you know." He proclaimed emotionally, enveloping his wife tightly in his arms. "What if he'd hurt you…our baby—"

"The baby is fine." Bella assured him, pulling his hand to the curve of her barely visible bump. "I'm a bit shaken up, but he or she is perfectly fine."

"I couldn't handle it…if anything had happened—" Tris sighed, looking up when Roger returned, brushing a hand roughly through his thick black hair.

"He's gone." He informed Tris. "Put him into the carriage myself and waited for it to round the corner. He's just drunk. I don't even think he knew his own name."

"There used to be an issue with Lotte Granger." Tris told Roger, shaking his head in disgust. "He was sort of obsessed with her. It finally stopped, but now, he seems to have turned his attention to Bella."

"How can you tell?" Bella asked, sniffling. Tris brushed her hair back from her face tenderly.

"He was watching you all night. I had been keeping an eye on him until Lord Edmonton and John Asker got into an argument over a ridiculous bet." He shook his head. "_Never_ again. That man is never allowed in this house again." Bella nodded in agreement. "Especially with our _children_ asleep just upstairs."

"Ever." She affirmed. The two rushed forward to kiss passionately, forgetting that Roger and Esme were present. Esme looked at her own husband and smiled, blushing. His eyes were dark with unspoken emotion, intent on her. He beckoned for her to join him. She gladly obliged, leaving her sister and Tris to their loving embrace.

"I was so _scared_." She admitted, letting Roger embrace her fully when they were in the hallway.

"I know…I'm so sorry, Esme." Roger said, stroking her hair to calm her. "That look on your face. I almost died of a heart attack." Colin was waiting for them with Gabrielle and her husband when they returned to the ball.

"Is everything alright?" He asked.

"Fine." Roger nodded. "Lord Keating has resolved the matter and is attending to his wife."

"Bella?" Colin asked, his eyes wide with question. Esme smiled at him, feeling her heartbeat begin to return to normal while Roger rubbed her back in soothing circles.

"She's fine…just a bit of indigestion…you know." Esme pointed to her middle. "The baby." She whispered. Colin nodded in understanding.

"Ah." He acknowledged, checking his pocket watch distractedly. "Well, it _is_ late…I really must be getting home." Esme suddenly remembered what Gabrielle had said about him staying out late and shared a look with her. Gabrielle smirked, turning to her husband. Esme wondered if her cousin was going to meet some girl in secret, but decided it was none of her business and turned to look up at Roger's handsome face.

"I think it best we get going too." He informed her, crooking a finger beneath her chin. A surge of excitement thrilled through her at the thought of going to bed.

* * *

James Westcliff and Simon Reynolds had always done everything together. They'd lost teeth together as little boys, played sports together, gone to school together and had finally gone into business together after college, starting their own successful financial advising business. So it was no surprise to James that they had ended up getting married just a few weeks apart from each other. It was also unsurprising when he came home from work and found Lillian and Julienne sitting together, chatting animatedly. It made too much sense that James and Simon had married girls from the same family.

"…it's not that being pregnant is so bad, really, but lately, I just can't stop _eating_. It's been two months now and I'm eating constantly."

"So am I and I'm not pregnant." Lillian replied, giggling to herself. "I just enjoy food."

"Well, you're also happy now, which does make a difference." Julienne nodded. "And if _your_ nightly activities are anything like ours…you very well _could_ be expecting." Lillian's eyes widened at her cousin's teasing. James noticed her swallow in thought.

"Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I had my…_you know._" Lillian confessed, sounding dazed. "Bloody hell."

"You _have _been married a month…which is ample time to conceive." Julienne agreed, to which Lily turned a spectacular shade of red. The truth was, they had made love _two_ months before. Right around the time that Julienne and Simon had gotten married. James could have laughed at the symmetry of his life with Simon's. Of course, Lillian had been distracted, so there was also the chance that she was not expecting and had simply just not paid attention, but if he was being honest, they had made love every single night since their wedding, and if he was not mistaken, monthly courses took a week. They had not missed a single night together.

James decided to make his presence known and walked into the room.

"Afternoon, ladies." He said, clearing his throat and sinking into an arm chair. The sad remains of their snacks lay in crumbs on the tea tray in front of the two girls. Picking up half of a broken cookie, James inspected it before eating it. Lillian was still pale, as if she too had realized that something was different with her body.

"Are you feeling well, my sweet?" James asked his wife, eyeing her closely. Lillian nodded vaguely.

"Just tired, I suppose." She said thoughtfully, biting her lip and looking away. James had to bite back a grin.

"We've been busy this afternoon, I'm afraid." Julienne added, patting Lillian's knee. "Lillian helped me work on the blanket I'm knitting for the baby."

"We're both terrible at it." Lillian muttered, holding up a sad pink mess of yarn. James chuckled, despite feeling somewhat flustered over the possibility that he and Simon would possibly become fathers at the same time. It would be fitting, to be sure.

"You're better at it than I!" Julienne laughed, taking it from her. "I am good at needlework, but knitting—forget it! I'll leave that to Madeleine."

"Well, I'd offer my services, but I think that would be a mistake." James quipped, winking at his wife. She rolled her eyes at him, which was a regular occurance.

"You would probably end up with a knitting needle in your hand which I would then have to dig out. And," She went on, "as you recall, I am not the sweetest nurse in the world."

"You're my favorite nurse, though." James told her wickedly. Julienne stifled a giggle before looking toward the door.

"Simon should be along to retrieve me shortly." She said, sighing. "He told me five."

"And here I am at four-fifty-nine." Simon said, showing himself into the parlor. He ran an annoyed hand through his fair hair. "My baby sister is up to something, and I want to know _what_." Bending down, he kissed Julienne on the top of the head and nodded to Lillian.

"Lil." He said, perching on the arm of the sofa.

"You need to leave Anna alone, Simon." Julienne scolded, sighing and giving her cousin a suffering look. "She's going to be twenty-one soon. She doesn't need your help. If she is in love with someone, let her come and tell us in her own way. She has parents, if you recall." Simon scowled.

"She doesn't keep secrets. Not from me." He replied moodily. James's eyebrows rose.

"Anna is in love?" He asked, thinking of the girl whom he would always see as a thirteen year old. "Little Annie?"

"We don't_ know_ anything for sure." Julienne insisted, giving her husband a reproachful look. Simon met James's eyes.

"Letters. Writing letters…all the time Grace told us. To _whom?_" He exclaimed. "Who in the hell does she know that lives far enough away to write to?"

"Lotte?" Lillian offered. Simon shook his head dismissively.

"Lotte is thirteen years older than her. They barely ever saw each other." He groused. James shared a look with Julienne, hiding his smirk. Simon had always been stubborn and disgustingly protective of the girls.

"Maybe Gabrielle?" Julienne said, shrugging.

"Colin was just in town a few weeks ago." Lillian said. "He came to our wedding, remember?" James realized, with a jolt, that his wife was looking expectantly at him.

"So what?" He asked, confused. "I don't think Colin and Anna have ever even spoken to each other."

"He's ten years older than her." Simon said, dismissing the thought immediately. Julienne sighed, giving him a pitying look.

"And?" She asked. "There are bigger age differences in couples."

"Anna left the wedding breakfast early, remember?" Simon pointed out. "They would have never gotten a chance to talk." He looked at James. "Would they?"

"I have to be honest," James confessed, feigning apology. "I wasn't paying attention to anyone but the bride." He winked at Lillian, who tried to look annoyed, but ended up blushing. "And who even cares? If it is Colin Moreau, then I would say you have nothing to fear. He's a good man. And if it's not…you'd better stay out of it, because Anna has a temper."

"It's not like she's eighteen and newly introduced into society. She's almost twenty-one. She's ready, Simon." Julienne said, reaching for his hand. "Your job is to just support her decisions and help your poor wife prepare for the birth of our first. You can torture our daughter all you want, just let your sister be." At the mention of birth, James snuck a look at the stricken Lillian. Though he knew she wanted children badly, she must be shocked, perhaps even a little scared. And even if she wasn't, it would happen soon. There really was nothing to worry about.

"I suppose you're right." Simon agreed, standing and helping Julienne to her feet. "I think we should head home. I have a terrible itch I need help with—"

"That's disgusting." Lillian said dryly, reminding the pair that they were not alone. James chuckled, before they all said goodbye.

* * *

Roger grasped Esme's hand as they stepped onto the dock at Le Havre, leading her through the crowd to the waiting Destler carriage that had been sent for them. He was secretly glad that her parents hadn't come to retrieve them from the port so that he could have just a few more hours alone with her. He was unsure how he would react to the imploring gaze of Erik Destler. The entire time they had been away, especially when they were alone at night, he was constantly looking over his shoulder in fear of being found out by either Esme's father, or Charles. He knew that there was no way anyone could really find out, but he didn't want to ruin their secret simply by looking guilty.

Esme clung to him once they were inside the carriage, making sure that the drapes were drawn so that they could have some privacy.

"This next couple of weeks is going to be awful." She insisted, nestling into his side and running her hand over his chest. Roger felt his muscles tighten under her touch. If Esme had been inexperienced a week before, she certainly had learned fast. It seemed every night they had spent together since, she had asked him to show her something new. It was every man's fantasy, having a woman who actually _wanted_ to engage in making love as much as he did. She was insatiable too, surprising him at every turn.

The night before, after they'd returned from Keating Manor, Roger had excused himself to wash up before bed, leaving his evening coat draped across an armchair. When he'd returned, Esme had been lying in wait for him wearing nothing but his coat. Even thinking of it now, his entire body flushed with heat.

"Are you alright, darling?" Esme murmured, looking up at him with her lovely sky blue eyes. Roger could not hold back a smile, cupping her delicate face in his hand.

"Of course." He replied easily, stealing a quick kiss. Esme made a sound of disappointment when he didn't deepen it. Shaking his head, he chuckled.

"What am I to do with you, my sweet little wife?" He asked, pulling her closer to him. "We'll never be able to leave bed after our wedding if we continue on this way."

"I don't see any need to." Esme insisted stubbornly, pouting prettily. It made Roger want to press her onto her back in this very carriage and soothe her.

"What about to see your family? Or to attend a ball as husband and wife?" He grinned rakishly at her. "Or when we have a baby?"

"You're right, I suppose." She sighed. "And I think we should wait to have a baby."

"Do you?" He asked, fascinated with everything she did, twirling a loose lock of brilliant copper hair around his finger.

"Yes. I don't want to share you yet. And I don't think I'm quite ready to be someone's mother." She admitted.

"I'm proud of you, Esme Marie." He said, pulling her up into his lap. "I suppose you've always been wiser than your years though." Kissing her cheek, he cuddled her close.

"I always knew I wanted you. Even if I didn't admit it." Esme agreed. "Even when I was a little girl and you fancied Bella, I was terribly jealous. I've always said you were mine."

"I always was." Roger insisted.

"And I've always been yours." She added.

"You have, haven't you?" He could not contain his happiness. "How am I ever going to stay away from you this next couple of weeks?"

"We could always sneak around." Esme offered, making him laugh out loud.

"You seductive little temptress…you would love that wouldn't you?" He teased, pressing a kiss to the area just below her ear. Knowing exactly how to bait him, Esme let her head fall back into the cradle of his hand and bared her pale throat to him.

"I'll leave my window open for you."

"And how am I to get in? Scale the wall like some idiotic Romeo?" He slid his lips along the silken skin, running his hand over the delicious slope of her breast. Esme arched into his touch.

"I could pretend to be Sleeping Beauty. You could be my prince and kiss me awake."

"Or I could pretend to be the villain and steal you from your bed." He purred into her ear, reaching beneath the hem of her dress and up her smooth leg. Instinctively, her thighs parted for him. Feeling the dampness beneath her thin drawers, Roger hardened beneath her.

"Oh, let's pretend you're stealing me right now." Esme moaned, helping him remove her drawers.

"Then let's make sure we keep quiet so as not to alert your father's drive and get us both murdered." He agreed, discarding her undergarment and reaching for the buttons of his own trousers. Esme began to reach for him, but he shook his head. "I'm the villain, remember? I'm ravishing you." Her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

"My father will be looking for me." She told him, batting her eyelashes.

"Yes, but by the time he finds us, you won't want him to." Roger told her in a low, husky voice. A tremor shivered through Esme's body as he turned her over and trapped her beneath him. He took her wrists and trapped them above her head, making her breasts sit higher up, heaving with each labored breath she took.

"What are you going to do to me?" She whispered, pretending to be frightened. Roger bent to nip at the tender skin showing above the cut of her bodice. A breathy mewl tumbled out when he flicked his tongue over the area to soothe where he'd lightly bitten her. With his free had, he freed one porcelain breast from its prison and covered it with his hot mouth. Esme arched upward, the worst victim ever. She was far too willing. Roger did not mind at all.

"Do you still want your father to find us?" He urged, turning his attention to her other breast. She nodded, obviously trying to keep up her end of the game.

"Oh, yes…" She said, though it sounded more like an exclamation of pleasure. "I'm a good girl."

"Are you?" He continued, unsure of how he was able to think to go on with this. "We'll have to change that." Lowering so that his lips were upon the fragile shape of her ear. "I'm going to kiss you from your feet up your legs. I want to taste the sweet skin on your thighs." Esme thrashed, trying to press up against him. Roger swept his hand down her neck, trying to calm her. "And then," He went on wickedly, "I'm going to taste you between your legs."

"But you _couldn't_." Esme told him, though her body told him otherwise.

"Oh, I could." He assured her, kissing the side of her exposed breast. "And I _will_. And you're going to love it…you're going to _beg_ for it."

"No…" Esme sighed, straining up toward him for a kiss. Roger swallowed, trying to control his lusty haze.

"You're already faltering. What do you want me to do?" His voice was muffled against the softness of her chest again. His hand fell between her legs, running the tip of his finger along the slick crevice there. "This?" Esme nodded and let out a cry, which Roger covered with his own mouth. The driver could not know what was happening.

"If you aren't quiet, I shall have to gag you." He warned. Her eyes closed in pleasure as his finger entered her. She continued to sob into his kisses. Withdrawing his hand from her, she let out a noise of disappointment, staring into his eyes. "Tell me what you want."

"I…I…" She licked her lips when he carefully began to stimulate the tiny sensitive spot nestled within the fiery curls, "I want you to…to…"

"_Tell_ me, Esme Marie." He growled at her, watching her eyes open and stare clearly at him. A smug look came into them as she smirked and leaned up to speak directly into his ear.

"I want you to fuck me." Roger let go of her wrists and stared down at her slack jawed, feeling his heartbeat escalate to the fastest he'd ever felt it. She never ceased to shock him. He paused for a half second before presently releasing himself and plunging into her with one fluid movement. Esme covered her mouth with one of the pillows in the carriage and cried into it. She came almost immediately, and Roger not long after. Remembering what she'd said about children, he withdrew and spilled onto the warm, waxen skin of her thigh. Panting, he cleaned her off with his handkerchief and readjusted his clothing while she drew her drawers back on.

"You are going to be the death of me, Esme Marie." He groaned, pulling her close and checking her over to ensure they were presentable.

"I like to keep you on your toes." She grinned impishly.


	22. The Missing Bride

It was confirmed. Lillian Nerissa Westcliff was expecting. Her husband was thrilled with this news, and had not even had the decency to be surprised when she admitted it. She'd spent the entire afternoon pacing nervously, awaiting his return. He'd been ten minutes later than usual, which hadn't helped with her nerves.

"Lillian?" He called out, coming into the house. She was standing in the unfurnished nursery, biting her lip.

"Up here, love!" She called back, gripping her skirts in anticipation. The sound of James coming up the stairs and starting to go into their room across the hall made her lose her breath. He'd stopped, seeing her standing in the middle of the empty room and frowned.

"Sweetheart?" His ice colored eyes were full of concern. She nearly crumbled at the sight of him, wanting to rush forward and let him comfort her. Somehow, she managed to remain where she was, clasping her hands together.

"I have to tell you something." Lillian whispered. He was across the room in less than a second, taking her hands into his.

"What is it?"

"I went to see the doctor today." She confessed, trembling. He raised his eyebrows, but a small smirk appeared on his handsome face.

"And?" His voice was knowing, as if he had suspected all along. Lillian could only nod.

"We're expecting." She breathed, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. Though she was still anxious, she was relieved as well.

"I know." He admitted sheepishly. "I've had a notion for a couple of weeks." Lillian could only gape at him in amazement.

"How?"

"Darling love…I know how it works." He told her, touching her nose. "You haven't had an occurrence…I could only deduce." And then, she was swatting at him in irritation. "I have been agonizing over how to tell you this _all_ day," She smacked his arm, "And you _knew?"_ Pointing her finger against the hard plane of his chest, she glared at him even though she was not angry. "You brute! You arrogant—" James cut her off, kissing her deeply and sensually in the middle of their future child's bedroom. She could only sigh into his mouth, wrapping her arms contentedly around his neck.

"How I love you." He told her sincerely when they pulled apart. "I always have."

"You really knew?" She asked him, stroking the smooth line of his jaw. He nodded, rubbing his nose against hers.

"I did. And I couldn't be happier." He insisted.

"Oh, James." Lillian cooed, falling into his arms. "Really?"

"Of course, sweetest." He chuckled.

"Oh, I love you James." He bent to sweep her up into his arms.

"I can't wait until you start showing." He murmured, kissing her cheek repeatedly and making her laugh. "I can't wait until we can feel him or her move."

"I think you're a bit ahead of yourself, James." She giggled. "We still have a couple of months before that happens."

"I insist on talking to him or her every day starting right now." James said, taking her into their room and laying her on the bed, settling beside her and lowering so that his head was resting near her flat stomach. He splayed his hand over it. "Baby Westcliff," He said firmly. "This is your father speaking." Lillian rolled her eyes, but could not hold back a quiet giggle. "I want you to be kind to your mother…she's waited a long time for you and so have I. I apologize for us being a bit late getting around to it, but here we all are now. Twelve years later, but we made it somehow." Lillian raked her fingers through his blue black curls.

"Yes we did." She agreed, still smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt. "And we couldn't be happier. And thank you, on my own behalf, for not making me ill for the most part."

"And on my behalf." James added with a wink. "But even if you had, we'd still love you."

"We have to." Lillian giggled. "Because with us as parents, you're bound to be a hellion of the worst kind. You're sure to be competitive, arrogant," Lillian gave her husband a pointed look, "stubborn, and full of mischief."

"And we wouldn't have it any other way." James finished affectionately.

"Unless you cheat at chess like your father." Lillian inserted.

"Or manipulate like your mother." He challenged. Lillian descended into full laughter, letting him move up to kiss her fully. "Twelve years in the making." He told her, staring into her eyes, now serious.

"Thank you for fighting for me." Lillian told him, feeling herself fill with emotion.

"Lillian, I will _always_ fight for you." He promised seriously. "I would have never allowed you to marry Mercer Arnott. I know that now. I would have stolen you from the altar if I had to."

"Wouldn't that have been a mess?" She laughed helplessly. "How did I ever deserve you, James Westcliff?"

"I'm afraid you were very bad and now you're stuck with me forever as punishment." He quipped soberly.

"Then let's not waste any valuable time." She whispered, drawing his lips to hers. "Teach me a lesson."

* * *

Esme was to marry Roger in less than twenty minutes and the bride was missing! Julienne had taken on the task of finding her sister before their mother noticed and had a nervous breakdown. Evangeline had been emotional all morning with the thought of her final child leaving the house permanently. Even though Esme would just be across town at Roger's townhouse, she was still the baby of the family. Julienne thought that her father was taking all of this surprisingly well.

When her sister Madeleine had married Adam Stratton almost nine years before, he had been inconsolable. When Bella had married Tris, he'd broken down. When Claire had married Gustave, he'd choked up when giving her away. At her own wedding, he had been quieter, but she'd seen the melancholy in his eyes. Now, with Esme, she had expected him to be a mess. He was smiling and laughing with her uncle.

It was to be a very small affair, but Lord Fletchley had arrived the day before to attend for his son. It was nice to see that Roger was no longer alone in the world after Nadir had died.

Which brought Julienne to her present predicament.

Finding the bride.

Creeping along the back of the church, she peered into the room where all of the men were gathered, wondering for a moment if she had gone in search of Roger. Charles caught her eye and she silently cursed. If Charles knew that Esme was missing, he would go into one of his ridiculous overbearing tirades which only Emmy could soothe him out of. She smiled brightly at her brother and kept walking, hoping he didn't suspect anything.

"My little sister looks like she's up to something." He said from within the room. Julienne froze.

_Damn_.

"Which one?" James Westcliff asked, chuckling.

"The second youngest. Julienne Olivia Destler, get in here." Charles called out. Julienne sighed before poking her head into the room.

"My last name is Reynolds." She corrected him, winking at her handsome husband, who was seated lazily in a chair with his arms crossed. He smirked, blowing her a kiss.

"What are you doing?" Charles demanded suspiciously, making her groan.

"You are _insufferable._" She muttered. "And I was just…fetching some water for—" Her eyes flitted to James. "Lillian. She's thirsty, and I know what it's like to be—"

"Point made." Charles said. "I have five children. I know how it works."

"I should hope so." Julienne countered dryly. "Goodbye gentlemen." She started out the door, when she heard Simon clear his throat. Biting back a smile, she obediently walked over to him and dropped a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Good girl." He told her to which she gave him a look.

"Good _God._" She groaned, leaving the room of arrogant males. They all laughed as she left and something dawned on Julienne.

Roger was not in that room.

Her pace quickened as she began to poke her head into a few rooms, praying silently she would find them before anyone else did. An errant giggle from an unlikely door made Julienne stop. She paused outside the door, pressing her ear against the mahogany wood.

"…feel so wicked." She heard her baby sister gasp.

"Esme, for the love of God, be quiet." Roger chuckled from within, making Julienne's mouth fall open. "This _has_ to be a sin…in a church broom closet."

"This is _nothing_ compared to the other night when you climbed in the window—" Julienne's mouth fell open.

"Did you hear something?" Roger asked suddenly, making Julienne cover her mouth.

"No…please Roger…I can't wait—"

"Esme Marie, you had better be playing chess in there!" Julienne hissed through the door, mortified. The abrupt rustling of clothes and soft curse words came from inside the closet. The door slowly open to reveal Esme and Roger, both blushing fierce red. "You couldn't wait a few more hours?" She whispered, looking around to make sure there was no one coming. Especially their idiot brother. "Don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?"

"Hush!" Esme cried, shooing Roger away. He fled back toward the room where the men were waiting. Taking her by the wrist, Esme pulled Julienne into the closet and shut the door. "It's not bad luck." She said. "Roger and I are married."

"Not yet you aren't." Julienne reminded her in irritation. "You have to have a wedding to be married." Esme stared at Julienne as if she pitied her.

"_No._" She whispered. "We eloped. In Scotland." Julienne stared at her small, flame haired sister for a long moment.

"You _what?_" Her eyes were wide with shock. "Why?"

"Because we didn't want to wait. We wanted to have our own ceremony." Esme informed her unapologetically. "We did. And it was ridiculous…but the most wonderful day. And that night, we—"

"Ugh!" Julienne cringed. "No details please. I can't believe it."

"You won't tell…" Esme began and Julienne shook her head.

"Are you _insane?_ If Dad or Charles found out, you wouldn't have to worry about a wedding, because you would be locked away and Roger would probably be castrated."

"Good." Esme said, sighing in relief. "How do I look?"

"Thankfully, not like someone who was just having a tryst in the back of a church with her secret husband whom she is marrying this afternoon." Julienne said, ushering her out of the closet. "Now get back to the bridal room before Maman cries herself to death." Esme rushed off in the other direction while Julienne sagged against the wall of the church trying to catch her breath.

"You're wrong, you know." Julienne nearly jumped out of her skin to see her father standing there. He was grinning at her, looking remarkable for a man in his seventies.

"Dad. I didn't see you…" Her pulse picked up. "How much did you hear?" His lips curved.

"Everything."

"So you _know_?" Julienne gasped, terrified for Esme and Roger. Erik laughed.

"Yes. But not because of that." He patted her cheek. "Roger, the poor thing, confessed their plans to me before they left for England. He said he couldn't, in good conscience, go behind my back. So naturally, I gave him my blessing." Erik shrugged. Julienne could only stare. "Your sister is a manipulative little fox."

"What about this whole wedding? Why go through the charade?" Julienne asked. Her father sighed.

"Why destroy Esme's illusion that she and Roger married in secret? She was so proud of pulling it off…and this wedding was more for your mother than Esme and you know it. Esme has always had her own way." He pointed out. "You will not utter a word of this to anyone." He added. Julienne shook her head.

"No, of course." She agreed, weakly. "I wouldn't."

"Good." Erik kissed her forehead.

An hour later, Esme and Roger were married. (Again.) Julienne was surprised by the obvious intensity of their bond with each other, even though she had always known they cared for each other. It was like they could have an entire conversation without uttering one word. It was a different love than the kind she shared with her own husband, though it was no less powerful. Esme and Roger had been linked from the beginning, while Julienne and Simon's had built slowly, over time.

Each day, she seemed to discover something new that she loved about her husband. Today, it had been the discovery that Simon had an affection for Medieval theories and books. He was fascinated by the works of great philosophers and by science. He spoke of a coming industrial revolution. The world was changing. Though Julienne wasn't sure of what he meant by it all, she loved to hear him talk about carriages that could be driven without horses pulling it. Or his theory that, in one hundred years, there would be machines that people could use to _fly._ It seemed unlikely to her, but Simon was brilliant.

Julienne stood with her mother and two other sisters, (Bella sent her love.) as they watch Roger and Esme mingle with the people who had come. It was a very small attendance, only family invited. Lord Fletchley raised his glass to toast the new couple.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." He announced, "I would just like to say, that though I have only know my son a short time, I could not have chosen a more wonderful wife for him." He smiled at Esme. "Not only are you beautiful, but I have never seen two people more suited to be together. I don't know what Roger would have done without you, Esme." Lord Fletchley told her. "And you have made him so happy, which is all I could ever want for him. Roger," He patted his son on the cheek. Both were spectacularly tall. "Your mother would have loved Esme…but most of all, she would have loved the man you have become. I know I do." Roger shocked even Julienne when he moved forward and embraced his father tightly while everyone clapped and toasted. Esme wiped her eyes, letting Lord Fletchley give her a quick hug too. He said something to her, which made her giggle.

"Do you remember the day she was born?" Maddie asked, standing between Julienne and Claire.

"It snowed." Evie nodded. "And it was March."

"I was seven." Julienne mused quietly.

"All that red hair." Claire added, watching Esme with tears in her eyes. "I thought she looked like a little doll. I wanted to have her for my own to dress up."

"I was jealous." Julienne remembered. "I was the baby until then and I was afraid Dad would love her more."

"She was frighteningly smart, even as a baby." Evangeline revealed. "She does that awful trick where she looks up at you through her eyelashes."

"You taught her that, Maman. She learned it from watched you and Dad." Madeleine reminded Evie, who laughed.

"I certainly did not. And I do not do that!" All three sisters gave each other a look of understanding. "I don't!" Evie insisted. Julienne giggled, feeling a pair of hands settle on her waist.

"Ladies." Simon's deep voice acknowledged them. "May I borrow my wife?"

"Borrow?" Claire joked. "You can _have _her."

"For free!" Maddie added with a cackle. Julienne waved them away. When they were alone, Julienne noticed a few chaperones standing toward the side. She grinned.

"Just think, I was one of those women just a few months ago." She indicated the women. "Should I be threatened since I know you have an affinity for off the shelf spinsters?"

"Just _one_ spinster. And I told you before. It was the blue velvet that did the trick. Gets me every time." He stole a kiss, scandalizing her.

"In public!" She teased.

"You ruined other women for me, Julienne." Simon beamed at her. "All that time, I thought I needed freedom, when I really needed you."

"As you said, we made the best of a bad situation." She giggled, hearing him growl.

"I was an ass." He told her. "You were the best accident of my life." Julienne nodded, smiling.

"Thank you, Simon."

* * *

**One more. :(**

**But then the sequel.**

**Thank you for reading. **


	23. A Very Fine Line

_Christmas Day, 1909_

_Paris, France_

It had been twelve hours with no news. The house was full of people still, all waiting to hear about the newest addition to the Tiernay household. The expectant father had been banished from the room by his own wife when he had become so distraught at the sight of her in pain; he'd been unable to breathe. Roger was horrified at his own reaction to it all.

The day had started out normal enough. He and Esme had woken up, exchanged their gifts as they did every year, before he'd helped her to get dressed. They had invited the family to their home since Esme was due to deliver their first child any moment.

Roger could not help but admire her enthusiasm, even though she'd barely slept and her back was killing her. She'd insisted on helping to decorate the Christmas tree, to which he had protested. He knew that his wife, when determined, was an unstoppable force, so he had reluctantly hovered while she worked contentedly.

They had very nearly made it through Christmas dinner when Esme had very calmly pushed her chair back from the table, stood up and smiled down at her guests. Roger's entire body tensed, standing immediately as well though he was unsure as to what she was doing.

"I must apologize…but I'm afraid I'll have to excuse myself. Please do enjoy the remainder of the evening." She began to move toward the door when Roger had crossed over to her without delay.

"What is it, dear?" Esme's mother asked, sharing a look with her father.

"Oh nothing to bother with." Esme assured them, starting out again. Julienne shared a look with Claire, letting out a long sigh.

"Maman, I think Esme is having the baby." Roger's heart leapt into his throat when he realized that he was right.

"Are you?" Evangeline asked her youngest daughter, who bit her lip. Esme's blue eyes flitted over to her husband sheepishly.

"Maybe."

"_What?_" He cried, feeling his stomach sink. Very calmly, Esme's mother rose along with her mother and Julienne, leaving all of the men and her remaining sisters and sister-in-law staring at each other.

"Well gents, we might as well settle in." Charles said, grinning down at his wife. "It's going to be a long night."

"I'd better go check on my children and make sure they haven't killed each other or set fire to Roger's home." Claire sighed, standing. Bella nodded in agreement.

"We're trying to toilet train Will, so I'd better make sure he hasn't soiled his linens." She bent to kiss her husband's cheek. Tris winked at her.

"Can someone send for the doctor?" Julienne asked tiredly, returning into the room and gesturing for Roger to come with her. He immediately obliged, rushing toward her. Emmy patted his arm as he passed her.

"Don't worry, dear. We'll take care of everything down here." She assured him. "Lillian and James said they would stop in to say hello before they head home tonight."

"Welcome to the club, Tiernay!" Simon added, chuckling. Roger muttered some sort of thanks and followed Julienne up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with his wife. She took his hand supportively.

"When I was giving birth to Rose, Simon was in tears. Don't let him fool you. He was an expectant father of the worst kind." She giggled. "You're doing fine."

"It hasn't sunk in." He admitted, letting her lead him into the room, where Esme was already settled onto the bed calmly. Her eyes lit up when he came into the room and she reached for him. Silently, he moved across the floor to sit beside her.

"Here we go." She told him excitedly.

"What do I _do_?" He whispered, terrified. Pity for him came into her eyes. She always knew how to calm him.

"Hold my hand."

The doctor arrived half an hour later, and Roger was surprised that he too seemed to be terribly blasé about the whole affair. It was unnerving for Roger, who was nearly having a nervous breakdown. He withdrew to the perimeter of the room momentarily while the doctor evaluated Esme's progress. Apparently, she had a long way to go still. Looking to his mother-in-law for guidance, he could not deny the look of amusement in her eyes.

"Every birth is different, sweetheart." She told him. "Why don't you go down and have a drink with the men?"

"I don't need a drink." He protested, to which his wife gave him a look.

"You're sweating bullets, Roger." Esme insisted dryly. "You're worse off than me. Julienne, please escort my husband downstairs before he dies of a breakdown." Roger swiftly moved to kiss her forehead.

"One drink, Esme Marie." He agreed, letting Jules pull him from the room.

Twelve hours later, here everyone was. The Christmas celebrations had died down hours before. The children had all fallen asleep at different points in the night and were scattered throughout the house. Claire and Gustave had left long before. Charles and Emmy had finally given up the wait and left with their brood, along with Madeleine and Adam. Bella and Tris remained with James and Lillian, who held their sleeping two year old son, also named James. Simon was asleep in an armchair with little Rose in his lap while his wife continued to attend her sister above.

Erik Destler was reading a book as if this were the most casual occurrence in life. Of course, he'd had six children, and too many grandchildren to count, so naturally, he was an expert. Roger envied him, unable to sit down. Esme had refused to let him stay in the birthing room upon seeing his nervousness and had charged the other men with keeping him occupied. Roger had allowed his nephew Edward to play a long game of cards, though he was so distracted that the ten year old won without trying.

The fire was dying when, finally, a long shriek came from above. Roger stood, rooted to the spot, listening to the powerful cries of the infant. Even though he had no idea whether he had a son or daughter, he sagged in relief. The baby was alive and seemingly well judging by the sound of it. Bella perked up, handing her youngest son to his father and moved to stand near Roger, linking her arm through his.

"She's going to be fine, you know." Bella assured him.

"I know." He replied in a choked voice. "But I need to see her for myself."

"It will only be a few minutes."

"They made me wait an hour to see Lily." James said from the floor, where he was sitting with Lillian perched between his legs. He had his arms around both wife and son, one hand splayed on her round middle. They would welcome their second sometime in the early spring.

"That's reassuring." Roger muttered, taking the drink that Erik Destler offered him and downing it in one gulp.

A moment later, Julienne appeared in the doorway to the parlor with a bundle in her arms. Roger couldn't tell if it was a baby or merely a rolled up blanket.

"Roger, come meet your son." She told him, beaming. Her eyes were tired but aglow with happiness. Timidly, Roger felt himself drift toward her and peer down at the tiny, pale faced infant in her arms. He was very light, but his hair was dark like his. He looked extremely agitated, squinting up at his father as if to say, 'is it over?'

Very carefully, he allowed Jules to set the sturdy baby into his arms and let everyone quickly congratulate him before he retreated to go see his wife. The doctor passed him on the way up, patting his shoulder with a nod.

"Your wife performed like a champion, Monsieur. She's strong, that one." Roger could only nod at him before continuing on. Esme looked very small against the pillows on the bed. Her bright hair was matted with sweat and her face was blotchy from the efforts of her labor. She had never looked lovelier. The necklace he'd given her nearly four years before still lay perfectly around her neck, a constant reminder of how much he'd always loved her. Her mother discreetly excused herself, kissing Roger's cheek on the way.

Gingerly, he set their son into his mother's arms. A wide smile spread over Esme's beautiful face as she gazed down at her son.

"Isn't he perfect?" She asked, running her finger over his beautiful lips. Roger could not take his eyes off of the baby.

"He is." He agreed.

"I know what I want to name him." She looked up and met Roger's eyes. He swallowed, feeling every emotion head ever felt for her rise to the surface.

"And?" He asked, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before brushing his hand over the thick hair of the baby boy.

"His name is Kieran." Esme informed him. "Kieran Roger Tiernay." Another grin. "Irish…it means 'little dark one'."

"It fits him." Roger agreed, tilting her face up to his for a kiss. "I love you. You're the most amazing, wonderful—"

"I'm not the first woman to give birth." Esme reminded him with a laugh.

"You're the only one I care about…you're the one who gave me him." Roger insisted, brushing her hair back tenderly.

"You're my best friend, Roger. There is a very fine line between a lover and a friend, but you're both. I didn't have to choose." Esme confessed tearfully. "I'm so very lucky, for I couldn't have ever done this with anyone else. I wouldn't want to…"

"You couldn't." He assured her, pulling them both into his arms. "We were meant for each other always, you see. There's no fighting Fate. It will always win."

"I can honestly say it was one battle I was glad to lose." The new parents kissed one last time before they let themselves return to staring at the future Earl of Fletchley.

Life was brilliant.

* * *

**Thus ends this story. Thank you for reading. I would have put more detail in, but I didn't want to give details of the next one away. It takes place before this epilogue. **

**See you soon!**

**S**


	24. SEQUEL

**The sequel is up. "Love, Anonymous" **

**I posted it under misc books because it's really not Phantom of the Opera fiction anymore. lol. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading. Your reviews and kind words have meant everything to me.**

**S **


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